The Christmas of Us
by Labyrinth01
Summary: It's Brenda's first Christmas without her mother and without Major Crimes. Can she still find joy in the season with Fritz by her side?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Brenda rested her forehead against the window pane and stared out at the settling twilight, her breath causing a fleeting white mist on the November-cooled glass each time she exhaled. Behind her she could hear Fritz speaking but she no longer listened, instead becoming fascinated by the fog her breath created, ephemeral though it was. I wonder how cold it will be in Atlanta at Christmas time, she mused. She sighed, the long stream of warm air causing a large patch of cold glass to turn opaque. She lifted a finger and idly began to draw a heart in it. I guess I'll never find out, she thought bitterly.

She felt Fritz's hand on her shoulder and jumped. She quickly stopped doodling on the window but she didn't turn toward him, embarrassed to be caught in her inattention. He put a hand on her other shoulder and slowly turned her around.  
"Brenda, did you hear anything I said?" he asked her, eyebrows raised.

No. "Yes," she answered. She was too upset to listen to what Fritz had to say; besides, she know what it would be, something reasonable and rational. Completely opposite to how she was feeling. Water to her fire.

"Liar," he said, with a smirk. "I can always tell when you have tuned me out." He took her by the hand and guided her to the couch, and then sat down next to her. She tried to avoid looking at him, but he tilted her chin upwards so she couldn't escape. Against her will, her eyes filled with tears. Dammit, she cursed, yanking her head out of his grasp and dragging the back of her hand across her face. He gives me one sympathetic look and I start crying again. Why can't he be a jerk every once in awhile?

"Oh Brenda, don't be mad at your father. He's just doing what he needs to do to get through this Christmas without your mother. He is going to be with family who will take care of him. Can't you be happy for him, honey?" Fritz reached over to rub her back, a familiar gesture of comfort, but she jerked out of his reach.

No, she couldn't be happy for her daddy. She could only feel angry, she only wanted to feel angry, and wanted no part of Fritz's attempts to soothe her. Earlier that evening, she had called home to talk to Clay about when she was going to come to Atlanta for Christmas. For months, Brenda had been planning to make Christmas at the Johnson's look as similar to when Willie Rae was alive as possible. During her time in Atlanta the previous summer, Brenda found her mother's cookbook with all the recipes for the Johnson family holiday favorites: rocky road, snickerdoodles, the glazed ham served at dinner, and, of course, her mother's famous peanut brittle. Brenda had never actually made peanut brittle before, but she knew it had something to do with a candy thermometer and a temperature called "hard crack," and she was confident she could figure out the rest of it. She located all of the Christmas decorations in the attic, and even saved one of Willie Rae's hideous holiday sweaters from being sent to Goodwill. Brenda knew she had huge shoes to fill, but she was going to work very hard at creating a Christmas for her father and brothers that her mother would be proud of.

When she spoke with Clay this evening, she chatted about all the things she planned to do to make this first holiday without Mama as nice as possible. After awhile, Clay interrupted her, and, sounding guilty, he told her that he wasn't going to be in Atlanta for Christmas. Turns out his sister Margery is going on a cruise with her family and in-laws, and at the last moment her bachelor brother-in-law cancelled, and she invited Clay to take his place. Brenda listened in horror as he explained how being in the house was going to be very hard on him, and a cruise to the Caribbean with his sister sounded like the perfect solution. When Brenda, struck speechless, didn't respond, Clay described the ports of call, the extravagant dinners, and all the luxuries they have on cruise ships. With her mouth hanging open, she thought, _I was gonna try and make peanut brittle, me, the person who can't cook, to comfort you at Christmas, and instead you want to drink mai tais on Saint Martins and eat a midnight buffet? _When her tongue unfroze, she couldn't stop herself from saying, "this is the first Christmas Mama's dead, and the way you are gonna honor her is leave your home and your kids and party on a cruise? Daddy, what is wrong with you?" Tears stung her eyes as all her plans for the holidays, and how she was going to work so hard to take her Mama's place, fell to pieces.

"Brenda, I can tell you are upset, so I'm gonna let that rude tone of yours slide," Clay answered, sounding irritated. "I know you were planning on coming here and doing everything you could to make a nice Christmas. But the truth is, it's not going to be a nice Christmas, no matter what. Your mother's gone, and all the decorations and homemade cookies in the world can't make up for that. I just don't think I can take being here, in this house, at Christmas without my Willie Rae beside me. As far as I'm concerned, Fate stepped in by a space opening up for me with Margery's gang on that cruise. I get to spend time with my sister, my nieces and nephew, and mourn my first Christmas without my wife the way I need to do it, far away from a house with 40 years of holiday memories." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "I can tell you don't understand it, but I don't owe you any explanations, little girl. Grief is personal, and private, and whatever helps a person get through it, as long as it's healthy, is a good thing. And I know that for you, coming here and putting on your Mama's apron and trying to be her might be your way of grieving…"

"I was not gonna try and be Mama!" Brenda protested.

"As I was saying before I was interrupted, coming here and making peanut brittle may be your way of mourning, and if so, I'm sorry for messing that up. But I've got to do what I've got to do. If you want my advice, instead of focusing on your Mama being gone this Christmas, why don't you focus on Fritz being _here_. The man could use your attention."

Brenda didn't remember the rest of the conversation. She just recalled hanging up and running to the bedroom and curling up like a small child as the tears came. This is how Fritz found her, in fetal position on the bed with red swollen eyes and tears leaking down her cheeks. She brokenly told him what happened and, to her surprise, he didn't take up her crusade of indignation. Instead, he coaxed her into the bathroom to wash her face, then into the kitchen to eat some of the takeout Thai he had brought home. Now they were in the living room talking. Rather, Fritz was talking and Brenda had drifted off into a depression-seeped fog.

"I was saying, Brenda, that you have to respect your dad's choice, even if you don't understand it. You miss your mother, and being in Atlanta this Christmas was going to help you mourn her, but he lost his wife. It's different. Neither one of us can understand that kind of pain, so we can't judge his decisions."

"Bein' around women in bikinis and drinkin' those drinks with little umbrellas is gonna help him with the mournin' process? Oh please!" Brenda huffed, crossing her arms over her chests.

"He needs distraction, Brenda. Like he told you on the phone, that house has so many memories with your mother. The cruise doesn't. And he will be with family, a bunch of people his own age. People he can talk to about all of this." Brenda started to open her mouth to protest, but Fritz put his finger over it. "I know what you are going to say. He can talk to you, can't he? He did talk to you, quite a lot, when you were in Atlanta. But you are his daughter, and you don't know what it's like to lose a spouse, or be at the age where that's a real possibility. He will be with his sister and other people his own age, and he can get support from them, support his kids just can't give him. And I hate to say this, Brenda, because it sounds trite, but this isn't about you. It's about your father and what he needs."

"Oh, so now you are callin' me selfish," she felt herself getting choked up again. "Thanks a lot, Fritz." She was backsliding, she knew, but she was too upset to stop herself. Ever since Brenda had her personal revelation about "the bad men" and how her job was eating away at her soul, Brenda has been making an honest effort to change. She strove to make Fritz a priority in her life, a position he always held in her heart that got lost in the chaos of translation into her reality. And she was learning to fight fair, and throwing out childish lines like the ones she just spoke was exactly the type of thing she was trying to get away from. She sat up straighter in the couch and looked at Fritz, waiving her hands in the air as if to erase the words.

"Sorry, sorry," she said hurriedly. "I promised not to fight like that again. I'm sorry that I said what I said. I've been so much better, haven't I, Fritzy?" Her eyes, red and abused from earlier tears, began to fill again.

He took one her flailing hands and held it in his. This calmed her, the feeling of his soft warm palm enveloping her much smaller hand. He raised it up to kiss her knuckles.

"Much better, and I accept your apology," Fritz said. "And now maybe you can listen to me for a few minutes, without interrupting and with an open mind, okay?" She nodded. "Consider this another lesson in 'The Continuing Emotional Education of Brenda Leigh Johnson." They both laughed.

Looking at her life honestly didn't come easily to her, so she enlisted Fritz's help. Most of Brenda's "education" involved a lot of talking, which she frankly hated but knew was a necessary evil, especially because the things Fritz told her were laced with wisdom and almost always right.

"All right, Sensei Fritz, hit it," she said, reaching up to caress his cheek. He grabbed her other hand and held that one too.

"I think we have some choice about how we respond to situations," he started. "Not at first, because we are just reacting out of sheer emotion, but once we settle down, our brains kick in. So tonight, you were shocked to hear about your dad not being in Atlanta for Christmas, and that also completely messed up your Christmas plans too."

Brenda battled the rising tears and nodded.

"Once the shock of that news is over, you can decide how that's going to impact your Christmas. Was going home to Atlanta and trying to fill your mom's shoes the only way you can spend this Christmas? Frankly, honey, I had my doubts about how healthy it was for you to even try." He squeezed her hands.

She shut her eyes. "Go on," she said, her throat tightening.

"So the way I see it, you can make this Christmas all about it being the first Christmas without your mother…"

"Fritz, I don't have to _make_ it about it being the first Christmas without Mama. It just is!" Brenda protested.

"I know honey, but is it going to be the only thing to define this Christmas? Are you going to choose to cry yourself through the holiday season, or are you going to try and find some happiness?"

She pulled a hand away from his and rubbed her face. "Ask me tomorrow. Right now I'm too pissed off at my daddy."

"Oookay," Fritz said slowly. "How about I propose something else, another thing for you to focus on, an alternative way for you to frame this Christmas? I think that might help."

Brenda was curious. "What do you mean?"

It's the first Christmas without your mother, which is sad. But it is also the first Christmas of something good, or at least that's the way I see it. This is the first Christmas we've been together that we don't have to worry about you being called out and our day ruined. Or we won't be transporting suspects in an RV across the country. And most important of all-" he stopped to wrap his arm around her shoulder- " I think this is the best Christmas for us as a couple. We've never been stronger, Brenda. I know I've never been happier, despite all the tragedies. I love you more every day, and things just keep getting better and better. It's our first Christmas together where things are in such good shape. I think a focus on a 'Brenda and Fritz Christmas' would be really nice, don't you think? Even though that does kind of sound like a cheesy holiday special." He smiled and laughed at his own bad joke.

Her anger drained from her in an instant from his touching words. She turned toward him and buried her face in his chest, loving him beyond her own comprehension. His other arm came around her back and pulled her closer, and she snugged her nose in the crook of her neck, where she could feel his pulse and revel in his Fritz-smell. The smell of comfort, of safety. Of unconditional love.

Fritz was right. Things were so much better between them than they had been a year ago. It wasn't just leaving Major Crimes and starting at the DA's office, a demanding job but one where she could bring work home and wasn't at risk for being called out to a murder in the middle of the night, leaving their warm bed and a disappointed Fritz behind. The epiphany she had with Rusty Beck and what the "bad men" were doing to her life was just the beginning. After her mother's death she spent a great deal of time in Atlanta, and in her mourning did more soul-searching than she had ever done before. What she discovered is that Fritz had spoken the truth; she didn't know how to be honest with herself, she tended to be selfish, and worst of all, she took Fritz for granted.

How little she gave to Fritz was driven home one week when, while buying a few necessities at the drug store, she spontaneously decided to buy him a mushy card for no particular reason. Brenda was no romantic, but he had been having a tough time at work and had been coming home exhausted, so for $3, she thought, what the heck, I'll surprise him. She picked out something simple, not too silly or with any long, simpering declarations of love, and wrote, "Fritzy, you are the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you forever, Brenda." She put it in his briefcase that night and forgot all about it. The next evening she was chopping vegetables for dinner when Fritz came through the back door and grabbed her from behind. He lifted her up and twirled her around, causing her to cry out and warn him about the knife in her hand. He had a grin from ear to ear, and he pulled her close to him and gave her a passionate kiss. "I found the card," he said, looking incredibly happy. "That was such a wonderful surprise, Brenda. I can't tell you how much it made my day. Thank you, thank you, thank you!" He pushed the chopping board aside and set her on the counter, his kisses growing more passionate and insistent. If he got this incredibly excited over a silly card, Brenda thought as Fritz took off her blouse, I really have been tossing him crumbs for the past several years. After that she made more of an effort to make romantic gestures such as leaving him notes, texting him suggestive messages, and buying him little gifts. Each time he looks like Oliver Twist getting seconds at dinner. She knew, without a doubt, a Christmas that celebrated them, as a couple, a _new and improved_ couple, would put him over the moon.

"I like that," she said, her voice muffled against his neck. "Does a 'Brenda and Fritz Christmas' come with lots of presents for Brenda?"

He pulled back so he could look her in the face. "Well, as of tonight it does."

"Huh?"

Fritz shifted on the couch so he could see her better. "Last summer, when things were really rough, I decided to buy your Christmas present early. I booked us for Christmas at Big Sur. It's the skiing trip that you missed out on a few years ago. The one I was a jerk about and went on without you." He shifted uncomfortably. Brenda knew he felt bad about that. "I have a deal with Jerry. If it ended up that we couldn't go for some reason, he was going to buy it off of me, because he and Susan don't have any plans. And I still haven't given it to Jerry."

Brenda look puzzled. "But we were supposed to go home to Atlanta next month. That was the plan as of about 2 hours ago. Why are you still holdin' on to the reservation when you knew, or thought, that we weren't going to be here? Tryin' to torture your old partner?"

Fritz cleared his throat. "I just had this feeling that we weren't going to end up in Atlanta after all. When we were visiting your dad a couple of months ago, every time you mentioned coming back for Christmas, he got this really unhappy look on his face. I got the sense he was going to try and be somewhere else, that he was dreading the holidays. And I was right."

"Yes, you were," she murmured. "I just wish you let me in on your hunches, Fritz. Then maybe I wouldn't have been so shocked tonight." She lay her head on his shoulder.

"They were just hunches, and I didn't want to get you upset for nothing. But that's beside the point. What do you think? Big Sur was beautiful, and we can finally learn to ski together. We can drive up there Saturday the 22nd, and come back the 26th. How does that sound?" He had that earnest expression on his face he wore when he is trying desperately to please her. Brenda's heart lurched.

And she was pleased. Five days away in the mountains, just the two of them, leaning to ski, enjoying the Jacuzzi, roaring fires…Brenda let her mind wander. This has definite romantic potential.

"Did you book a couple's massage?"

"You bet. And I was hoping for some other 'couple' activity that doesn't need to be scheduled." His voice dropped an octave. "After all, you are going to be cold with the snow, being a Southern girl and all, you are going to need a source of heat." He waggled his eyes at her suggestively.

Brenda smiled but all of a sudden felt very tired, the emotional weight of the day crashing down on her. "Yes, yes, and thank you, Fritz," she said, yawning. "But it's been a long day and I need to go to bed. Cryin' your eyes out just kinda sucks out all your energy, you know what I mean?" She yawned again and untangled herself from him, standing up.

Fritz grabbed her hand before she could get very far and she turned to look at him. "I'm serious, Brenda. It's a decision, a choice. What is this Christmas going to mean to you? What are you going to _choose _for it to mean to you?"

She thought back to the conversation with her father earlier that evening, when he said to her, _"instead of focusing on your Mama being gone this Christmas, why don't you focus on Fritz being here. The man could use your attention."_ If there was one thing her father was now an expert on, Brenda thought with an aching sadness, it was valuing the time you have with your spouse. And suffering terribly when that time is over.

"Us, Fritzy," she answered sleepily. "I choose Christmas 2012 to be all about us. Just watch me."

**End Chapter 1**

**'Tis the season...feedback, please?**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** In this chapter, I wanted to show that Brenda is growing not only in her relationship with Fritz, but in other areas of her life. It's a bit lighter than Chapter 1. I hope you enjoy.

**"**Brenda Johnson!"

Brenda froze mid-sniffle at hearing her name called. She held her breath and hoped the intruder would go away and leave her alone.

"Brenda, I know that's you in the stall. No one else in this office wears three inch fuchsia heels." Brenda pulled her feet closer to the toilet, as if removing the identifying objects from view would make her invisible. She heard Andrea Hobbs chuckle.

"Oh, just stop it!" she said. "Hiding out in the most remote ladies room at the DA's office and crying, pretending you aren't here when I track you down, just stop! Get your butt out here, Brenda, and tell me what's wrong."

Brenda sighed in defeat, unrolled some toilet paper, and wiped her eyes. She slowly gathered herself and exited the stall with as much dignity as she could for a grown woman caught hiding in the bathroom. She took one look at Andrea and knew that she saw right through her facade.

Andrea was leaning against the wall, arms folded, her crisp navy suit perfectly tailored to her tall frame. Much to Brenda's surprise, in the six months she had been at the DA's office, she and Andrea had become friends. Brenda had always liked DDA Hobbs when working with her at the LAPD, had always appreciated that she didn't play the "us against them" politics the others prosecutors seemed to revel in. But it was on Brenda's first day as Chief of Investigations, when Andrea closed her new office door and gave Brenda the low-down on the seamy underbelly of the DA's office, who to trust and who not to, who was competent and who was an idiot, who hated her and who was an ally, that Brenda realized that Andrea liked her as a person, not just as a colleague. Brenda had never been good with having girlfriends; when she was younger she found other girls silly, and when she got older it seemed that her good looks and brains made her the subject of much petty jealousy, so she found it easier to steer clear of friendships all together. She was rather clueless at first when Andrea was making overtures, as Brenda simply wasn't used to people wanting to spend time with her for the sole reason of enjoying her company. But Andrea was patient, and before long, Brenda found herself with a friend. And a very good one at that.

Brenda raised her hand before Andrea could speak, trying to head her off. "I'm fine, you didn't need to stalk me, you know. Just havin' a bad day is all."

"Bull," Andrea replied bluntly. Brenda admired her honesty, her ability to cut to the chase. Except when those laser-sharp observational skills were at directed at her. "You've been down all week, and you come here about the same time every day for a good cry, like it's a scheduled meeting or something." Brenda just looked at her, amazed Andrea had noticed her routine. Andrea glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's 1:00 and I'm sure you haven't eaten lunch yet. There is this little hole in the wall Mexican restaurant a few blocks from here. No one from the office goes there because it looks like it should be condemned by the health department, but the food is really good. Let's go. My treat. You can tell me what's bothering you while we eat." Andrea pulled her purse over her shoulder and turned towards the door.

Brenda started to protest, but Andrea turned around and gave her what she had come to think of as the "stop the crazy Brenda act" look. "I wasn't asking," Andrea said with a hint of impatience, and opened the door, waving Brenda through.

Andrea wasn't kidding about Pedro's being a dive. But it was dark and private, and Brenda was sure that, indeed, no one from the DA's office would be seen lunching there. She stared down at her tamales, her stomach rumbling. She was hungry, but at the same time she didn't want to eat, not when she knew Andrea was ready to cross-examine her to determine why she had been crying. I got Fritz at home, Mr. Touchy-Feely, she thought to herself, and now I go and get a friend who likes digging things out of me. It's too much.

Andrea took a bite out of her taco. "You can't stand the idea that I'm going to ask you what's wrong, can you?" she said.

"Could you not read my mind, please?" Really, Andrea and Fritz were cut from the same cloth. No wonder the two hit it off so well.

**"**Let's see, former Deputy Chief Johnson, LAPD legend and Closer extraordinaire, I bet you would have no problem figuring this one out. A woman runs to a remote location every day for a week and returns to her office with red eyes and bites everyone's head off for the rest of the day. I am deducing she is upset about something and is off having a good cry. How am I doing so far in this investigation?" Andrea leaned back in her chair and looked at Brenda, clearly pleased with herself.

"You are a regular comedian, you know that? Between you and Fritz picking at me all the time to talk about everything, I'm surprised I haven't gone off the deep end yet." Brenda stabbed one of her tamales with a fork and took a bite. Andrea was right, it was delicious.

"Fritz and I have a sort of simpatico, you know," she said. "I think it comes from him saving my life. We both care about you, so deal with it, Johnson."

Brenda smiled at Andrea. This friend thing really was nice, once you get used to the poking and prodding. "I'm dealin', I'm dealin'."

"So tell me what's going on. And don't sugarcoat it. You aren't the only one who can tell when someone is lying."

Brenda knew when she was defeated, so she told Andrea about her phone call to her father two weeks prior, about his decision to cancel Christmas in Atlanta in lieu of a Caribbean cruise, how Fritz had booked a vacation at Big Sur and requested that they make the focus of this Christmas not on the loss of Willie Rae, but on the two of them. And then Brenda went on, struggling against renewed tears, how despite her vow to Fritz, she can't stop thinking about her mother with the emergence of holiday decorations and Christmas carols everywhere. And since she doesn't want Fritz to see her unhappy, since she promised she would find joy in the two of them this season, that left her hours at work the only time she could allow her sadness to seep out. Hence the daily crying jags in the bathroom.

"Brenda, why didn't you tell me any of this?" Andrea asked. "This happened two weeks ago and I'm just hearing about it now?"

"Andrea, you got engaged the same week! I didn't want to be boo-hooin' over Mama's death when this great thing just happened to you. I just wanted to be happy for you and Robert, and not be fussin' about my problems!" Brenda spoke the truth. Andrea was getting married for the first time at 42 to a software engineer, a gentle giant of a man who treated Andrea like gold, and Brenda was genuinely thrilled for her.

Andrea smiled and looked down at her engagement ring, twisting it on her finger. "Well, thank you, but I'm not some twenty year old blushing bride. Although the way my sisters are acting, you would think I was. Do you know they want me to have bridesmaids at my wedding? Bridesmaids, at my age?" She rolled her eyes. "But seriously Brenda, you would not have ruined anything for me, because I understand completely." She paused. You know," she continued, her voice suddenly raw, "the night Robert proposed, he made everything perfect. It was beautiful, and romantic, and both of us were crying. But five minutes later, I realized that my father wouldn't be there to see me get married, and I was crying for an entirely different reason." Brenda reached out and squeezed her hand. Andrea's beloved father had died two years prior from a heart attack. Her mother had died when she was a teenager, and as the oldest of three girls she helped to raise, her father meant the world to her.

Andrea's phone chimed, breaking their shared moment of misery. She reached into her purse to grab it, then glowered at the screen with such a look of consternation that Brenda had to laugh.

"My god! My youngest sister just texted me a picture of the ugliest dress ever. Celia, I am going to kill you, I told you no bridesmaids…" she whispered under her breath as she shoved the phone back into her purse like it was a poisonous snake.

"All right, on to the present," she said crisply, her no-nonsense persona firmly back in place. "The reality is that your mother isn't going to be here this Christmas, you aren't going to be in Atlanta, and my father won't be at my wedding. So we are grown women, and we owe it to the men in our lives to make the best of it. So, what have you been doing to convince Fritz that this is the, what was that corny phrase you used, 'the Christmas of us?'"

Brenda cringed. "Fritz came up with that, not me. And what do you mean, 'what am I doin'?' I'm goin' to Big Sur and I'm tryin' not to pout, that's what I'm doin'."

Andrea shook her head. "Brenda, Brenda, Brenda. How have you been able to hold on to that handsome hunk of manhood for so long as clueless as you are? Don't you have any idea what men need?"

"Food and sex?"

"Besides that."

"More sex?"

"Stop!" Andrea laughed, slapping the table top. "No, no, they need reassurance. Men are very insecure. They need to know we love them, that we are going to be there for them. Fritz needs to know you are as happy as he is with how things are, about having a job that allows you to spend more time with him. It means the world to him, let me tell you. He told me he never felt so relieved than the day you walked out of Major Crimes, so he could finally stop worrying about you getting shot."

"When did he tell you that?" Brenda asked suspiciously.

"At the sleazy hotel we met at yesterday," Andrea said sarcastically. "Stop being jealous, really, Brenda! I have my own man, thank you. We were talking about it when we were out bowling. You and Robert were up at the snack counter for the tenth time that night getting ice cream."

"Bowlin' wears me out," Brenda sniffed.

"Yea, and the two of you have the sweet tooth of an eight-year-old," she said. "But that's beside the point. You need to show Fritz you are genuinely excited about the whole Christmas at Big Sur thing. Do something concrete to demonstrate that you are making this holiday about him, that you are really looking forward to this time alone with him. Men love concrete. They can wrap their brains around concrete."

Brenda thought about how over-the-top excited Fritz was the first time she slipped a romantic card in his briefcase as a surprise, and the joy on his face all the subsequent times she has made a similar romantic gesture. Andrea was right. Fritz really did respond to concrete. "I love you's" got a great reaction, but when he saw that she put time or effort into something, that always seemed to really touch him.

Brenda nodded. "Sage advice from the newly engaged to the old married lady, Andrea. Let me think about what I can do to muster a little enthusiasm."

"Hey, remember it was my case that ruined your last trip to Big Sur," Andrea reminded her. "I saw you and Fritz gathering your stuff and packing in your office. And I have an idea of how you can show him you are into this trip. A really _great_ idea."

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That night, Brenda got home around 8pm. She tried to juggle the packages in her hands to unlock the back door of the duplex, but just as she had fished her keys from the bottom of her giant purse, the door swung open. Fritz looked at her and held out his hands, offering to take her bags, but she shook her head no and walked into the kitchen.

He kissed her on the forehead. "I was getting worried," he said. "When I got your text saying you were going shopping, I thought maybe it was a wrong number."

"Ha ha," Brenda snorted. She sat down her parcels and took off her coat, tossing it on the back of a chair, ignoring Fritz's glare. "Somethin' smells good. Any leftovers for me?"

"I made a big pot of vegetable soup," he said. "Let me get you some. But first, show me what you bought. Unless they are presents for me." He looked hopeful.

"I'm done shoppin' for you, honey." For someone who eschewed shopping in general, Brenda was known as an excellent present-giver, and this was due to her training as an interrogator. Since she was taught to never discount a single word out of someone's mouth, because even the most benign statement could be an important clue, she was able to cull present ideas from throwaway bits of conversations, such as "I've always been interested in this," or "I've always wanted to have a copy of that." Such tidbits, mentioned in passing, would get stored in Brenda's steel-trap mind and turned into wrapped presents under the tree, much to the surprise and delight of the recipient. Fritz assumed she had no understanding of baseball and had made several musings about collector items in front of her that she doubted he would even remember, which was going to make him opening his presents and seeing the treasured items she tracked down on Ebay even more fun.

"Nope, no presents for you. Santa already dropped off your gifts. And let me tell you, you have been a very good boy this year. You got bonus points for makin' dinner for your wife."

"Did I get bonus points for anything else I did for my wife?" That look was back on his face.

"Fritz Howard, do you ever think of anything besides sex?" Brenda slapped his arm.

"I only think of sex with you," he purred, moving closer. Brenda took a step back.

"Insatiable!" she giggled, putting a hand on his chest. "I just got home, I'm hungry, and I want to show you what I bought! At least some of it. Settle down, boy!"

Fritz sighed and backed up. "Okay, show me what you bought." He sat down at the kitchen table.

Brenda picked up a large bag marked "Sports Authority". Fritz raised his eyebrows but said nothing. "Remember how, for our last Big Sur vacation, I was too busy to shop and I had you go and buy me a ski outfit?"

Fritz nodded.

"You came back with that pink jacket that made me look like an exploded flamingo," Brenda frowned. "I know passive-aggressiveness when I see it, Fritz."

He said nothing.

Andrea's words over lunch came back to her. _"Why don't you kill two birds with one stone by going out and getting a nice ski jacket? I have to be honest with you, Brenda. I saw that pink nightmare you were going to wear last time. I think Fritz must have got it in the Children's section, because no one over the age of ten should wear something like that."_

_Brenda didn't actually think that coat was all that bad, although she had her suspicions when Fritz said there weren't any other jackets available. "Okay, so a new jacket will show I'm all ra-ra about skiin'. What's the second bird I'm killin' by spendin' a couple hundred bucks on a new snow outfit when I already have one?"_

_"Avoiding public humiliation."_

"So, seein' as how you have a sexy white ski outfit that I'm sure all the women just loved," Brenda continued, watching Fritz squirm, "I decided I should look good too." She pulled out a black jacket trimmed in hot pink and held it up to her chest.

"Honey, that's really nice, I like it," Fritz said admiringly. "The black is kinda sexy too."

She dipped down into the bag again. "And I got matching pants. They are supposed to be extra warm. I'm assuming I'm gonna be spending a lot of time on my butt my first few times down the mountain."

Fritz nodded in approval. "You are going to be the best looking woman on the slopes, honey. And I have to admit, that's even nicer than the pink outfit I got you." Brenda could tell he was holding back a smirk. Smart As$.

Brenda tried giving him the hairy eyeball, but she found she couldn't. He looked happy, and that was the point of tonight's shopping trip, wasn't it? She made a note to bring Andrea a latte in the morning as a thank you.

"So what's in the other bag? I think I really want to see what you bought, even more than the snow suit." Fritz had caught sight of the name of the second bag, and knew that La Perla was Brenda's favorite lingerie store.

"Oh, the content of that bag will not be revealed until we are up at Big Sur," Brenda said, an evil smile on her face as she slowly bent over and placed the ski wear back in the bag. "You will just have to wait."

"Do I have to?" Fritz whined, placing his hand on her lower back and sliding to her hip, pulling her toward him. He wrapped his other arm around her and leaned down to kiss her neck.

"Oh Fritz," Brenda said, her voice breathy. She looked at him hungrily, her eyes half closed. "Lingerie be damned." She put her hand behind his head and gave him a deep kiss. She pulled back, and, pleased with the glazed expression on his face, whispered, "you know what I really want, honey?"

"Yes?" he answered, his voice rough with desire.

"Vegetable soup."

**End Chapter 2**

**_Ha, got you, didn't I? You were expecting a little Brenda/Fritz sweaty snugglebunny action there at the end. Well, that may be coming (rated K in this story, though)._**

**Feedback is even better than what Santa will bring me (assuming it's not a lump of coal like last year).**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes**:

A Guest who reviewed Chap. 2 pointed out to me that I made a factual error. In Make Over, Brenda and Fritz were going to Big Bear to ski, not Big Sur, which is on the coast. I hang my head in shame. I usually watch an ep if I am going to reference it in a fanfic, but I didn't this time, and look what happened! I was up until 3am on Christmas Eve wrapping presents, so I popped in Make Over to make sure I didn't mess up any other points. Yep, the woman looked like an exploded flamingo all right.

Again...your comments and support are just so wonderful! Thank you, you guys really are the best.

**Chapter 3**

"Brenda, what in the world is all this stuff?" Brenda watched as Fritz picked his way through the living room, careful not to step on the suitcases, bags, and boxes she had strewn about the floor.

"Duh," she said, giving him her best "stupid" look. "I got up early this mornin' and finished packin.' This is all stuff for the trip."

Fritz swiveled his head around, taking in the sheer amount Brenda had assembled. "We are only going to be gone for four days, Brenda! What all are you bringing?" He look at her, exasperated.

Just trying to be enthused here, cut me some slack, she thought to herself. She took a deep breath and forced a smile. "These are all things we need for Christmas at Big Bear, Fritz. Over there are things for Joel—his food, litter box, a few toys, his carrier. These bags have bakin' supplies and a few cookbooks. We can't have Christmas without Christmas cookies. And don't give me that look, Fritz! I don't care if I'm not supposed to have sugar. It's the holidays. That bag by your feet has a few board games. I keep creamin' you in Scrabble and you keep crawlin' back for more, I don't know why. Anyways, this box here has lights and ornaments for the tree—"

"Wait, what tree? We have a tree." He gestured to the tall spruce in the living room.

"Yes, we have a tree _here_," she said patiently, as if speaking to a small child, "but we need a tree _there_. How can we have Christmas without a tree? Where are we going to put the presents?"

"You seriously want to buy a second tree and haul it up a mountain?"

Brenda stamped her foot. The hell with patience. She hadn't had her coffee yet and she was trying really hard. "We can stop on our way out of town and get a tiny tree, somethin' cabin-sized. How can we make the cabin feel like Christmas without a tree, Fritz? I want a tree to open my presents by on Christmas morning!" She realized she sounded like she was about seven. She really needed coffee.

Fritz laughed and held out his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, please do not have a temper tantrum. We will stop and get a tree. But we need another tree stand, too."

"Done," Brenda said, the adult part of her regaining control.

"Done?" Fritz asked, sounding surprised.

"Yes, Fritz, I am capable of plannin' ahead," she said sarcastically. "In that box is a new tree stand, plus a small box of ornaments. We have so many that it was no problem takin' a few off the big tree. I packed that strand of lights you didn't use cuz some of them don't work. I also got a little tree skirt too. And before you start quizzin' me on the contents of the other bags—" she turned around—"behind me is my luggage, in which I have packed according to the schedule I had you provide. 'Two skiin' days, two nice dinners out, lots of time hangin' out in the cabin watchin' the snow fall and tryin' to stay warm.' She smirked. She knew what Fritz meant by "cabin time." "And before you tell me that I always overpack, may I remind you that winter clothes are bulky, and I need lots of them to stay warm."

He was looking around again. "All right. I am actually quite impressed with your organization. I wasn't planning on leaving for a few hours and you are already packed. Usually you are just opening the suitcase when I'm pulling out of the driveway."

Brenda stuck out her lower lip and said nothing.

He made his way over to her, banging his shin on the edge of a box along the way and cursing softly. When he reached her, he kissed her and said, "put that pout away, Brenda. I'm teasing. I just have no idea how I'm going to fit all of this in the car."

"Well, don't you men have superior spatial skills or somethin'?" Brenda said. "I'm sure you will figure it out. You always do."

"Yup," Fritz said with a nod. "I always do."

BFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBF BFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBF BFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBF BFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBF BFBFBFBF

Several hours later, they stood in a nursery filled with Christmas trees of all shapes and sizes. Brenda found a small pine about four feet tall that was so perfectly proportioned that it hardly looked real, and showed it to Fritz.

"What do you think? It seems cabin-sized to me," she said.

He stood there for a second but didn't answer. With words, at least.

"Loo loo loo, loo loo loo loo loo, loo loo loo…" he intoned to what vaguely sounded like "Hark the Harold Angels Sing."  
Brenda looked around, hoping no one could hear her husband acting like an idiot. "Fritz, what are you doin'? Shush, you are embarassin' me!"

He gave her his double-eyebrow raised, inquisitive look. "It's a Charlie Brown tree!" he said, as if that would explain everything, and went back to his wordless serenading, this time even louder.

"Fritz!" she hissed. "Are you nuts? What are you singin'? Or hummin'? Or loo-looin'? Or—whatever? We are in public!"

He stopped and turned to her. "Brenda Leigh Johnson, you really have no sense of humor, do you?"

She was offended. "I do so!"

"Haven't you ever seen 'A Charlie Brown Christmas?'"

Brenda stopped and chewed her lip. "Of course I have. Just not in twenty years."

"That's your problem right there. I own the DVD and watch it every year. Never miss it. It puts me right in the Christmas spirit." He started humming.

"Good for you. I grew up. You still haven't told me why you are…doin' whatever you are doin' to a perfectly good Christmas carol loud enough for everyone around to hear you."

"If you remember, Charlie Brown buys the tiniest, most pathetic Christmas tree on the lot."

"This tree isn't tiny and pathetic!" Brenda protested, insulted he would critique her choice.

"I didn't say it was. Anyways, at the end of the show, the Peanuts gang decorates the little tree with lights from Snoopy's doghouse, and it miraculously changes into this amazing Christmas tree. And Charlie Brown's friends stand around it and sing 'Hark the Harold Angels Sing' this way—" and he demonstrated the Peanuts version that used 'loo loo's' in lieu of words while Brenda looked around for a place to hide— "and it is all very sweet and funny. So when I saw your tree…"

"You were just compelled to behave like an animated character from a 60's Christmas special," Brenda cut in.

"Pretty much, yea," Fritz shrugged, and grinned at her.

"And they call me odd," Brenda muttered, shaking her head.

"Honey, you are odd," Fritz said, linking his arm through hers. "I'm delightfully amusing and rakish. Let's wrap up this Charlie Brown tree of yours and head up to Whoville, shall we?"

Brenda crinkled her nose. "Whoville?" she asked.

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With stopping to buy the tree, eat lunch, and stock up on groceries, Brenda and Fritz didn't arrive to their rental at Big Bear until four thirty. The rustic cabin was small, but had a fully functional kitchen and a large wood burning fireplace with a beautiful stone hearth. It was so ensconced in tall pine trees that Fritz drove past the small lane that led up to the cabin twice before he finally located the small sign that had the name, "Alpine Hideaway,"an appropriate moniker, off the side of the main road.

Fritz busied himself with unloading the numerous items Brenda insisted they bring while Brenda got Joel settled into his new temporary digs. She set up the litter box in the bathroom and put down some food and water in the kitchen. Joel immediately jumped on the back of the couch to stare out at the large picture window in the living room. The window, which spanned half of the back wall, offered a breathtaking view of snow-covered mountains, which glowed in the pink aura of the sinking sun. Brenda, who was feeling chilled in the small house, wrapped a throw blanket around her shoulders and joined Joel in staring out the window at the magnificent view. It was amazing to her that she was only a few hours from LA. She felt like she was in fairyland.

"Hey, I could use a hand here," Fritz said, as he hauled in several bags of groceries. Brenda turned to look at him, expecting to see an irritated expression on his face for doing all the work; instead, he had put the food bags on the floor and was staring at her. He slowly walked over to her and stood in the picture window, not even turning to look at the snow-peaked mountains that had enraptured Brenda.

"What?" she said.

He reached out and brushed and errant lock of curly hair off of her forehead. "I came in to yell at you to get out to the car and help me unload. But when I got a glimpse of this amazing view, and you standing in front of it, well, Brenda, you look…like magic. The sun is all around you, and it seems like you are glowing. You are beautiful, honey, so…_beautiful._"

She looked into his warm brown eyes, moved by his words. He loved her so much that sometimes it almost overwhelmed her. "Well, if you think I'm beautiful in the sunset, come here," she said, taking his hand and pulling him closer, wrapping her arm around his waist. She nodded at the window, and at the majestic mountains beyond. "Just look at that, Fritz. I'm not sure I've ever seen anythin' so stunnin' before. I'm so glad we are here, together. Thank you so much for arrangin' this, honey. Thank you so much."

Fritz looked like he was going to cry from happiness. Brenda remembered what Andrea had told her: _"men need reassurance."_ She assured him that she was happy to be at Big Bear, and happy to be with him. And she spoke the truth. How lucky she was to get to be nestled in the middle of all this natural beauty with the man of her dreams for Christmas. How lucky she was to have a man like Fritz to make all of this possible.

Later, when they had their fill of watching the sun sink lower behind the mountains, they brought in the rest of their baggage from the car. Groceries were unpacked, and the small Charlie Brown tree, which is was now known as, sat in the corner, next to the box with ornaments and the spare set of lights. "We can't decorate the tree until I make cookies," Brenda explained. "There is a certain order to things."

Fritz made a simple dinner of roasted chicken and rice pilaf from the provisions picked up at the grocery store. "There are several restaurants in the village we can eat at tomorrow night," he told her. "And I made reservations at a really nice place for Christmas eve. So I didn't think you minded staying in tonight." Brenda shrugged. After getting up early and packing, she was more than happy to spend the evening in the cabin, "nesting" and making it as Christmasy as possible. Skiing starts tomorrow, she thought, so this is my last night of not being sore, better appreciate it while I can. When she had finished with the dinner dishes, Fritz busied himself with building a fire to warm the chilly cabin while Brenda pulled out her cookbook and started in on her favorite cookie recipes. Two hours later, the air was thick with the combined scent of wood smoke, ginger, and chocolate. She brought a plate of warm cookies and milk out to the living room for Fritz and sat next to him on the couch.

"Okay, I have the last batch in the oven now. Let's start on the tree, okay? And if I have to hear you do the 'loo loo' hummin' thing one more time, I might hit you over the head with it."

"You are no fun, you know that?"

"I can be lots of fun," she answered. "Just not a big fan of corny jokes."

"Corny!" he grumbled, as he took the tree stand and placed the small tree in it, screwing in the supports like mad.  
Charlie Brown is not corny! Harrumph!"

Brenda laughed at his faux crankiness and leaned down and kissed him. She opened the box of ornaments, a mixture of plain red glass balls that didn't make the cut for their big tree at the duplex, and a smattering of personal ornaments they had collected over their years together. Carefully wrapped in layers of tissue paper and laying on top was the king of the Christmas tree himself: Keith the Angel.

Fritz had finished securing the tree and leaned over Brenda to see which ornaments she had packed. "Awww, you brought this one," he held up a silver ornament in the shape of the number one. Engraved on it was "Our first Christmas." "I thought you hated this one."

"I don't _hate_ it," she said, pulling out the lights and starting to detangle them. "I just think it's a little cheesy is all. But you like it and I know it means somethin' to you because Claire gave it to you, so I brought it along."

"Thank you." He pulled up a wooden ornament that looked similar to a nutcracker, but was blue and wore a police uniform. "I got this for you the first Christmas we lived together," he smiled.

"I know, I remember."

He sifted through the remaining ornaments and then looked at her. "Besides the plain ones and Keith, all these are ornaments we bought for each other. You didn't bring any of the ornaments from your childhood that your parents brought from Atlanta. How come?"

Brenda finished untangling the strand of lights and gestured to him that she wanted his help putting them on the tree. "Well, this is supposed to be a Christmas about the two of us, isn't it?" she responded, handing him one end of the lights. "So I left my family ornaments on the tree at home and just packed up ones that were significant to the two of us. Well, except for Keith. He just had to come."

Fritz successfully wrapped half the small tree in one fell swoop. "Of course Keith had to come. But I'm genuinely touched you just brought 'our' ornaments up here, Brenda. You know, I hate to tell you this, but—" he hesitated.  
"What?" she demanded. If the rest of those crappy lights are now broken too, she was going to be really mad. She put her hand on her hip and looked at him.

"I think you are becoming a romantic," Fritz finished, laughing at her expression, which was the same one she wore when she got insulted. "But don't worry, I won't tell anybody. It will just be our secret."

True to its namesake, the small tree, once decorated, looked lovely in the corner of the cabin, and made the entire living room look like Christmas. Brenda went and got Fritz's presents and put them under the tree so it wouldn't be bare. "Feel free to do the same," she told him, trying to sound casual. He laughed.

"Nice try, Johnson. I put your presents under the tree and you will spend the two days shaking the box to try and figure out what it is. No way. You can get your hands on them Christmas morning, and not a second sooner."

She elbowed him in the ribs and he pretended to be hurt, and she just rolled her eyes at his theatrics. With the cookies baked and the oven off, the cabin had grown quite chilly again, and Brenda shivered.

"Any way I can talk you into making that fire bigger? This Southern girl is getting cold," she said, hugging herself.

Fritz looked at the fireplace for a second and then turned back to Brenda. "I'll make you a deal. I will stoke this up to be a very enthusiastic, very warm fire, and I'll put several blankets and pillows in front of it so we can lie down and bask in its warmth, if you put on whatever you bought at La Perla and come out here and show me." Ahh, the man is blackmailing me, Brenda thought. He will make the cabin warmer, but only if I model lingerie for him. She had to admit to herself that she admired his ingenuity.

She stood up and brushed the crumbs from the ginger bread and chocolate crinkle cookies she ate off of her brown sweater. "Okay, but only if you make the fire really big. Or else I will freeze to death."

"Oh, I promise to make things very hot," he said, looking at her That Way. She felt a blush creep up from her chest to her face and cheeks. For heaven's sake, she thought, I'm 45 and I've been married for four years, and the man still makes me blush like an inexperienced schoolgirl.

"Well, as long as you promise," she said, in her very best sexy voice. She was pretty sure if Fritz blushed, he would be as red as she was right now. She turned toward the bedroom and looked over her shoulder. "I'm givin' you 10 minutes. When I come back out here, I expect things to be heatin' up quite a bit, do you hear me?" Without waiting for an answer, she disappeared into the bedroom.

When she had gone shopping for this trip, the clerk at La Perla looked at her like she had three heads when she asked if they sold something on the warm side. Luckily, an older woman overheard Brenda's request and guided her toward the peignoir set she was slipping on now. It was scarlet red, perfect for Christmas, Brenda thought, as she quickly pulled off her sweatshirt and felt the gooseflesh on her arms come to life in the nippy bedroom. The nightgown had spaghetti straps, no warmth there, but was made out of a heavy satin and was tastefully trimmed in black lace. The matching robe, which was full length like the gown, had bell sleeves and was lined with a thick cotton. When she slipped it on over the nightgown, she instantly felt warmer. Ah, sexy and cozy, she thought. Perfect. For the amount of money Brenda spent on the peignoir set, it had better be everything she asked for. She slipped on her black lingerie heels, grabbed her toiletry bag and ducked into the bathroom. She turned on the light and looked in the mirror. "Oh for heaven's sake, I look awful!" she said to her reflection. The makeup she had applied many hours earlier had worn off, and the heat from the oven had made the hair around her face frizz while the rest of her mane fought its way out of a sloppy pony tail. There were cookie crumbs congregated at the corners of her mouth. Really sexy, Brenda, she glowered at herself in the mirror. Fritz would really be hot for you looking like this.

Ten minutes later, with teeth brushed and all signs of cookie consumption removed, hair taken down and tamed with pomade, and makeup reapplied with the addition of bright red lipstick, Brenda walked into the living room. The lights were out, and the Christmas tree cast flickering pine-shaped shadows in the floor. Two candles Brenda had packed, both cinnamon scented, burned in opposite corners of the room. Fritz had kept his promise, and the fire was a veritable conflagration. He had taken the rug that adorned the center of the room and placed it in front of the fireplace, and covered it with several throw pillows and spare blankets. He was lying on his side, his head propped up on one hand, petting Joel, who was curled up next to him. He was shirtless, and the ambient light from the dancing flames splayed shadows across the muscular planes of his chest. He looked so sexy and so inviting as he lie in front of the fire, his skin rosy from the heat and begging to be touched, that for a second Brenda forgot how to breathe. It amazed her how her attraction to Fritz, even after being together for seven years, had never waned. Because he is so beautiful, she thought to herself, as a low strumming begin in her stomach.

A floorboard creaked as Brenda shifted her weight and Fritz looked up from petting Joel. "Oh, I didn't hear-oh. _Oh_." He stared at her, his mouth slightly agape. Normally Brenda would be fighting the urge to giggle, but tonight his pull was so strong that she was sure she wore an equally goofy expression on her face. When speech returned to him, he said softly, "You are too breathtaking to be real. Come here so I can touch you to be sure."

Brenda dutifully complied. When she got to the blanket-covered rug, she slowly knelt, putting one hand on Fritz's shoulder to steady herself while she shooed Joel off with the other. She was right: his skin was incredibly warm to the touch. She could hardly wait until it was pressed against hers. She lowered herself to Fritz's level and, mirroring him, lay down on her side, allowing her robe to fall open. The heat of the fire hit her and it felt delicious. She closed her eyes and focused on the sensation of the warmth enveloping her like an embrace.

She felt Fritz's hand on her wrist, coal-hot, and he slowly slid it up her arm, under the sleeve of the robe, until it couldn't go any further. Then he slid it back down, leaving a trail of tingles in his wake. Brenda's eyes were open now, watching him watch her.

"You are real," he whispered. "I thought you were a vision, an angel, but you are real. I can touch you." He ran his hand through her hair.

"Yes Fritz, I am very real," she answered, placing her small hand on the delicious fire-toasted flesh of his upper arm and gripping it as she leaned closer to kiss him. "But perhaps you should keep touching me to make sure."

**End Chapter 3**

**_I think they played Scrabble in front of the fire, don't you? Drop me a review and let me know!_**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes: **Just one more chapter after this, than we can all move on with our lives!

Many thanks for all the great reviews! Really, your kind words feed my spirit**. **

**Chapter 4**

**"**Oh Fritz," Brenda moaned, squirming on the bed.

"I'm here, honey, I'm right here," he whispered in here ear, lacing his fingers through hers. Her eyes were screwed up so tightly that multicolored fireworks exploded. She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. Fritz squeezed her hand and kissed her forehead, mumbling sweet nonsense to her.

Right when the sensations where becoming too much, the door to their room opened and a small man in a white coat walked in. Fritz pulled back from her to look at the intruder but didn't let go of her hand, which she was grateful for. She needed something solid to hold onto, because the pain was getting the best of her.

"I got your X-rays back, Ms. Johnson," said the doctor in a bored, automated voice. Brenda assumed that since he worked at the Urgent Care at the base of Big Bear, he spent his days caring for mangled limbs, and she was just another case. "And as I thought, you fractured your tibia. That means you broke your leg." Without looking at her, he walked over to the glowing X-ray reader at the side of her bed and attached two views of Brenda's left leg. He started to explain, in a drone, where the break was and the severity, pointing out the fracture on the X-ray. Brenda couldn't see what he was talking about and honestly didn't care. All she knew was that her leg hurt like hell, and that Christmas was basically ruined.

It was Christmas eve, and their second day of skiing. The first day had gone remarkably well, and Brenda was pleasantly surprised to find that she picked it up rather quickly, conquering her fear of flying down the side of a mountain on two sticks of wood after just a couple of runs down the bunny slope. Besides being sore from using muscles she didn't even know she had, Brenda thoroughly enjoyed her first skiing experience, and was looking forward to spending the morning and afternoon of Christmas Eve on the slopes. On Brenda's first trip down a trail a couple steps up in difficulty from the bunny slope she learned the basics on the day before, she hit a patch of ice and felt herself lose control. Determined not to run into either Fritz or the petite pre-adolescent girl next to her, she tried to veer toward the edge of the trail, but with her balance gone, she was successful only at awkwardly falling and sliding down the slick slope. It was a blur to her, but she remembered twisting her leg in the fall, and, despite her ski dutifully snapping off, feeling an excruciating stab in her left leg, like a giant was trying to rend the limb apart. When she came to a stop she writhed in the snow and used words that probably made her mama roll in her grave while Fritz leaned over and tried to calm her down. A small circle of people had formed around her, staring down at her with pity in their eyes, which only served to inflame her pain-induced rage. Before long a young man with cold-reddened cheeks and incredibly white teeth skied up to her, dragging behind him a long sled she knew was called a "meat wagon." Much to her humiliation, she was placed on this device and hauled by the handsome young man to the Urgent Care, where her ski boot was gently removed as she buried her face in Fritz's chest to muffle the screams. When she saw how swollen and bruised her leg was, she knew she was in big trouble.

Brenda pushed herself up on both elbows, sucking in air at the arrows of pain that shot into her leg at the slight movement. "I don't care about where the break is, doctor." she said testily. "I just care about two things. One, what we are gonna do about it. And two, when I can get somethin' for the pain. I'm goin' outta my mind."

Fritz looked a little embarrassed at her rudeness, but she didn't care. He wasn't the one who got hauled off the mountain on a sled with a broken leg with an audience to witness the humiliation, was he? She had her full b!tch on. and she knew it. She was miserable and the "Christmas of us" had just gone to hell, despite all her hard work. She didn't even bother to fight the tears that filled her eyes.

The doctor gave her a small tight smile. "I understand, sorry to get so technical. We are going to cast your leg from the knee down. No weight-bearing for six weeks. We will give you crutches today, plus a prescription for Percocet, although once the leg is casted, the pain should diminish." He pulled out his prescription pad and began to write. "Give your husband your driver's license and he can have this filled at the pharmacy across the street while we finish up with you," he continued. "That way you can get some pain relief sooner. I am only going to give you ten. After they are gone, switch to ibuprofen." He handed the prescription to Fritz.

Brenda let go of his hand and made a shooing motion, pointing toward the door. She needed those Percocet _now_. Fritz took the hint and, grabbing Brenda's wallet from her ski jacket, gave her a weak smile and left the room. The doctor was droning on about following up with her primary care provider at home, but Brenda has tuned him out. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on anything besides the relentless pain in her left leg…and the sinking feeling of disappointment in her stomach.

* * *

Two hours later, Fritz helped her to the car, worry etched on his face as she clumsily manipulated herself on the crutches. The small circular driveway in front of the Urgent Care was well-salted, but Brenda knew he was still concerned she would slip and fall. She, on the other hand, didn't care about much of anything at all. Fritz had successfully obtained the Percocet, and she felt like she was wrapped in a fuzzy cotton blanket. The pain was too distant to feel, and her thoughts were clouded and no longer important. And she was just fine like that.

When she was settled in and Fritz had started driving, he said to her softly, "honey, do you want to just go home?"

Go home? It took a minute for the meaning of his words to penetrate the fog of her mind. Going home would mean defeat. It would mean that the entire vacation had been a bust, a joke. It would mean she lost both Christmas in Atlanta and Christmas with Fritz. Some part of her brain that was still thinking clearly roared to life.

"Absolutely not!" she said forcefully. "No way! Do you really think I wanna be in a car for over two hours with a newly broken leg? And Fritz, we came up here to spend Christmas. We decorated the cabin for Christmas. And by god, we are going to be here for Christmas." She reached out to bang her closed fist on the dashboard, but woozily missed by several inches, instead waving it in the air.

Fritz smiled. "Okay, we stay. I appreciate your determination, Brenda. I just want you to be where you are going to be most comfortable. I've been on crutches a few times in my life and I know how miserable it is. I thought you might be a little less miserable in your own home."

"I probably will be, and we are headin' there day after tomorrow," she said. "But we are stayin' put until then. I will just have to master the crutches in the cabin. At least there aren't any stairs."

"I'll move the throw rugs so you don't trip on them," he said, thinking aloud. The mention of throw rugs made Brenda think of their night of lovemaking in front of the fire their first evening in the cabin, where Fritz's carefully crafted bonfire, and their own passion, kept them burning hot until three in the morning. Brenda had hoped for a repeat tonight but that was right out, since a leg cast and hot fireplace sex were pretty much incompatible.

Fritz took his eyes off the road and looked at her. "You okay, honey? Are you still in pain?" He just loves to mother hen me, she thought. "Just tired. I wanna take a nap when we get back. It's been a long morning." She leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes.

* * *

Fritz helped her out of her ski outfit and into a pair of his sweatpants, since the legs of her jeans and pajamas were too narrow for the cast. He insisted on pulling her sweater on also, even though there was nothing wrong with her arms, and for once she didn't suspect he was just trying to get a peek at her chest. He was genuinely upset that she was hurt, and wanted to care for her and comfort her any way he could. She leaned back on the pillows and regarded her propped-up leg, then reached out and caressed his cheek. "My sweet Fritzy," she murmured, already in sleep's clutches. "What would I do without you."

"Have a nice long nap, Brenda," he said, kissing her closed eyelids. "There is nothing you need to get up for. I'm going to cancel tonight's dinner reservations, so it's just going to be a quiet Christmas Eve here."

Her eyes flew open. "You are going to what?" she exclaimed, suddenly wide awake. She had completely forgotten about dinner.

He pulled back to look at her. "I'm going to cancel the reservation we have for tonight's dinner," he repeated, speaking slowly as if to a small child. Brenda realized he probably thought she didn't understand what he was saying because of the narcotics.

She raised up her head. She felt the determination she had embraced to make this the Christmas of Fritz's dreams surge back into her blood, as if the broken leg had never happened. "You will do no such thing," she said, in her best stern, bossy voice. "We are goin' to that restaurant tonight just like we planned."

"But Brenda—" he started, using the same "I'm talking to a lunatic" voice.

"Stop speakin' to me like I'm some kind of dangerous nut job," she snapped. "I may be a little goofy from the Percocet but I can still think. I want us to go out to dinner tonight, Fritz. I have several hours to take a nap and get ready, so even though I'm slow we will be okay with time. The pain is better and I think the doctor is right, it's not much of an issue once the cast went on. And I bought a brand-new dress for this. So you are takin' me out, mister, don't try and get out it." Brenda realized she did sound a little crazy, but she didn't care. The last thing she wanted was to hobble around the cabin on Christmas Eve and have time to think about how yet another thing in her life went wrong.

"But Brenda," Fritz said quickly, so she wouldn't interrupt, "it's slick outside, and you are on crutches. It seems like minimizing the amount of time you are walking around on snow and ice in the next two days is a really good idea. I don't want you to fall and hurt yourself. I mean, hurt yourself even worse. Let's stay home, honey, we can have fun here. I'll cook dinner, and we can play Scrabble. I'll even let you win." He flashed her his "Mr. Sexy" smile, the one he pulls out when he wants to get his way.

Brenda couldn't tell Fritz this, but when she was working for the CIA she was injured while in Chechnya and spent three weeks on crutches in the dead of winter negotiating unsalted and often unshoveled Chechnian walkways. Sure, she slipped a few times, and once or twice one of her CIA colleagues had to pick her up and carry her over snow drifts much to her chagrin, but she managed, and thus felt confident that she could handle crutches competently in winter weather. Instead she said, "I'll be fine, don't worry about me. And I don't want to argue about this. We're goin' out and that's final."

"Alright Brenda, but if you change your mind after your nap, that's okay."

"Thanks honey, but I'm not gonna change my mind. We are gonna celebrate Christmas Eve in the style we planned." She lay back on the pillows and frowned. "Although there is something I thought of, Fritz."

"What's that, honey?"

"I need you to run a few errands for me while I'm sleepin.'

* * *

Getting Fritz to agree to leave her alone and go shopping during her nap had been a five minute argument. "We have cell phones!" she kept repeating in exasperation. His mantra was that cells would only be helpful _after_she had fallen and hurt herself, and even then he might be 45 minutes away. It was only her persistence, and his past experience with her tenacity, that made him raise his hands and shout, "all right, all right, whatever you want, Brenda! But if you fall and break the other leg, I am not going to feel bad for you. It will be your own damn fault! Only a fool would go out a few hours after they had an accident." He ran his hand through his hair in what Brenda had learned to recognize was a sign of frustration.

She smiled to herself in triumph. She gave Fritz the list of what she needed, explaining in detail the purpose of each item. Once she was satisfied he knew what he was getting, and after assuring him for the hundredth time she would be fine alone in the cabin, she pulled the covers over her as well as she could with her left leg propped up on pillows and fell into a thick, narcotic-seeped sleep.

It was dark when she woke up, but Fritz, thoughtful as usual, had left the bedroom door open so that the ambient light from the hallway would leak in. He was probably worried I'd wake up in darkness and forget I had a broken leg, then fall out of bed or something. He's going to be really useful to have around when I'm 80, she thought to herself as she yawned and stretched. She turned on the side table light and looked at the clock; she had two hours to get ready before they had to leave for dinner. She gingerly lifted her damaged leg off the stack of pillows and placed it on the floor, reaching for her crutches at the same time. With a deep breath she hauled herself up on her crutches, groaning at the effort. It was tempting to tell Fritz that she had changed her mind and wanted to stay in tonight, and she could stop trying to be a good sport and just feel sorry for herself. Self-medication with Christmas cookies and eggnog sounded really good too. She shook her head, trying to clear the vestigial cobwebs of sleep and narcotics, and reminded herself why she was trying so hard, for the first time in her life, to be a good sport. 'The Christmas of us, the Christmas of us,' she chanted silently, trying to drown out all the nasty, cynical comments that floated around her exhausted brain.

She called Fritz to the bathroom and dragged herself there, the rhythmic _clunk clunk_of her crutches against the wood floor startling Joel, who had been lounging on the bath mat. Fritz drew Brenda a bath and gently lowered her down into it, wrapping her cast in a garbage bag and duct tape she had him buy so it would stay dry. Brenda thought she might need him to shave her good leg, but found she was flexible enough to do it herself, much to Fritz's relief. He lifted her out of the tub and dried her off while she turned on her curing iron and began to fuss with her hair. For the next twenty minutes, Fritz was reduced to a human mirror: as Brenda couldn't stand to use the bathroom vanity, she had Fritz buy a large handheld one as one of his errands. Primping required the use of both hands, and Joel didn't have opposable thumbs, so that left Fritz with the job of holding the mirror while Brenda curled her unruly hair into manageable tresses, which she then pulled loosely back and pinned with a red gemstone-encrusted barrette. Afterwards she applied her "evening" makeup, which included smoky eyes with carefully applied black liquid liner and dark red lips. Fritz's arms grew tired and he switched the hand holding the mirror several times, asking hopefully every time she paused to change makeup implements if she was finally done, with her responding that he could simply prop the mirror somewhere she could see it if this was too much trouble, which was inevitably followed by Fritz's resigned sigh. When Brenda finally finished, she heard Fritz mutter "thank god" under his breath as he tossed the hand-held mirror on the sink. "I need to get ready too, honey. What do you need me for next?"

Brenda bit back the urge to say something sarcastic about her injury being an inconvenience to him. This was the kind of behavior she was working so hard on changing; reflexively spitting out biting, carelessly cruel comments which sprung so easily from her mouth that stopping them sometimes felt like holding back the ocean with a broom. But she was slowly developing a filter, and she was proud of that. So she swallowed the bit of meanness perched on the end of her tongue and said instead, "thank you so much for your help, honey. You are the best. If you just bring the other things I had you buy to the bed along with my dress and suitcase, I can finish getting ready on my own."

And Brenda did. This is good practice for the next six weeks of work mornings, she told herself. She pulled out the package of thigh high stockings Fritz got at the drugstore and pulled one of them out, sliding it on her good leg. She had to do some ooching to get it up her thigh since she couldn't stand up, but triumphed after only a few minutes. She then gazed at her beautiful new dress, wishing desperately she wasn't going to be ruining its loveliness by accessorizing it with crutches and a cast. It was Christmas-red, just like her lingerie, a thick brocade with a deep V neckline and spaghetti straps. It stopped just at her knee. It came with a matching long sleeve jacket that was cut in an hourglass style and showed off her curves beautifully. She loved it the moment she saw it. When digging through her suitcase to find the jewelry she had packed, she carefully avoided looking at the red shoes she had bought to go with the dress. She was not going to be wearing three inch heels any time soon. Instead, once her necklace and earrings were in place, took one of her crutches and stabbed at a shoe box on the floor. She managed to knock the contents to the ground, and dragged the right shoe closer to the bed with the tip of her crutch. She gave Fritz her shoe size, told him to go into a women's shoe store—and she knew there were one or two in Big Bear—and tell the saleperson his wife was on crutches and needed black flats to wear with a dress. He needed to do nothing else but follow her advice, which he did. He came home with plain black patent ballet shoes which had a decent rubber tread for good traction, an excellent job. Still, she wrinkled her nose as she slipped the only one she needed on her right foot. She hated flats; it reminded her, and everyone else, how short she was. But a black ballet shoe sure beat a clunky cast, her toes covered with—she couldn't believe she was going out to a nice restaurant like this—a half-sock rolled on the end . When I get back to LA I'm getting a pedicure with hot pink polish, she told herself. No way I'm wearing this pathetic sock into the DA's office. I've got more panache than that.

She grabbed the other crutch and stood up, wincing at the pressure of the rubber pads on her underarms. She knew from experience that sore armpits and calloused hands were going to be constant companions for the six weeks. Think positive, she told herself, and instead focused on the large glass of Merlot she planned to have with dinner as a reward for all her suffering. "Fritz, I'm ready to go when you are!" she yelled. He walked in the bedroom fresh from the shower, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

"We don't need to leave for 15 minutes, we are doing well on—" he stopped talking when he saw her. She expected a complement, or at least a congratulations on finishing getting ready on her own, but instead, his handsome face was shadowed by an expression she didn't recognize, with an intensity she didn't understand.

"Fritz, what is it? What's wrong?" she asked, alarmed. Did she upset him?

He shook his head slightly as he walked over to her, and placed both his hands on her shoulders. As she was hunched over on her crutches, she had to bend her neck at an awkward angle to look at him. His eyes, the way he was staring at her…she was confused as to what she was seeing there. "Sit down, honey, you must be getting tired," she said softly, helping to guide her back onto the bed. She dropped down onto it ungracefully, leaning the crutches against the wall, and Fritz sat down next to her.

"What's wrong, Fritz? Did I do something to upset you? Please tell me you aren't mad at me." Brenda felt her throat closing, the stress of the day making her vulnerable, raw. "Please don't be mad at me. I'm sorry about the mirror, I really am. I should have done my makeup faster. I know I fuss with my hair too long, I should have—" he placed his finger on her lips to silent her beginnings of a Brenda-rant.

"Shhhh," he said. "Quiet, honey. I know how upset you get when you think I'm mad at you, but I'm not mad at you, not in the least. It's the exact opposite, in fact."

"The exact opposite?" Her words came out garbled under his finger.

"Yes." He moved his finger away to cup her chin and tilt her head so he could look into her eyes. "You have had the most awful day, Brenda. You broke your leg and were in terrible pain. On vacation, on Christmas Eve, no less. But you refused to go home, and you refused to cancel our plans to go out tonight. Whereas most people would just be content to lie around in sweatpants and eat Christmas cookies and feel sorry for themselves—in fact, honey, I think that's what _you_would have done a couple of years ago—you went to all the trouble to get dressed up, adapting for the cast, and you look great, so beautiful. It's like you took this horrible day and wiped it away. You just amaze me sometimes, Brenda. Your tenacity."

Brenda pulled away from his hand and his gaze and shook her head. She felt like she was getting praise she didn't deserve; after all, he couldn't hear all the petty things she said to herself. "You are the one who went shoppin' for me so I could get dressed up, Fritz. And I needed you to spend an hour to help me get ready. I couldn't have changed out of those comfy sweats you mentioned if it wasn't for you, so I don't think I deserve any praise."

"Brenda, Brenda, Brenda," Fritz said. "Can't you hear what I'm saying? It's more than putting on a dress and lipstick. You made a choice not to let the crappiness of what happened today ruin Christmas Eve for you. It's like I said after you found out your father wasn't going to be in Atlanta for Christmas. We choose how we react to things. You chose how you were going to react to a broken leg in the middle of our ski vacation, and that is to not let it stop you from having fun anyways. Brenda, listen to what I am trying to tell you. I am _proud_of you."

The emotion in his voice, and the words it supported, overwhelmed her. _He's proud of me,_ she repeated. _Not for finding a killer, not for closing a case. For becoming a better person._She turned toward him as much as her bad leg would allow and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest. It was one of the few times in her life when Brenda Leigh Johnson, interrogator supreme, was at a complete loss for words.

**End Chapter 4**

**Author's Notes #2: **I know, this was not a really thrilling chapter, but this story is about more than a nice fluffy Brenda and Fritz Christmas, despite the title. It's about personal growth and change, and rising to the challenge. Sometimes in life, we get hot fireplace sex, and sometimes we get broken legs. As Pope once said, "thems the breaks." I have faith in Brenda that she will triumph in the end. Don't you? Just food for thought before you leave a review asking who hijacked Labyrinth's computer and wrote this horrible chapter. lol


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's notes:**The final chapter! The first part of this chapter is written stream of consciousness, with Brenda mulling over all kinds of things. I wrote it the way I thought Brenda probably thinks: in short sentences because thoughts tumble over each other, a little perseveration, a fair amount of rambling. I think that's why this chapter is ridiculously long; I channeled Brenda, and I got page after page of all kinds of...stuff. She has an interesting head for a writer to crawl into.

I was asked in a review of the last chapter* what the status is of my "Welcome Home" series. Since y'all seem to actually like to read my stuff, I will tell you where I am in terms of fanfic projects:

I wrote "Thirteen Days," a K-rated fic where Brenda is in Atlanta and Fritz is missing her. I followed it up with "Photograph," an M-rated fic where Brenda and Friz get creative with their cell phones long distance. I started writing the 3rd story in the series, in which Brenda actually comes home (it will be rated M on , but if you don't like that type of stuff, I am going to put a K-rated version on The Closer Forum). Anyways, I got 4 pages into that story, and came up with a great idea for a fic where Brenda is in Atlanta, going through her mother's things, and finds something that is very...intense (I have trapped this woman in Atlanta!). So I started writing that story, and I'm about 85% done with it. I just need to finish and edit it, and it should be ready to post in a week. I also started a really hot M-rated smutfic, and of course I thought it would be a short one. HA! I just can't write short. I'm on page 15 with no end in sight. I will finish that one after I finish the K one. I will finally go back to the story where she comes home to Fritz, which will be multi-chapter. So fear not, if you like my stories, I am hard at work keeping Brenda and Fritz alive.

I'll say it again...I really can't thank all of you enough for your really, really wonderful feedback. There is no other reason to go to all the trouble of writing fanfic if it didn't make people happy, and if your feedback didn't make me float about 3 feet off the ground. . A Happy New Year to all of you.

*There is a wonderful Guest who has left great feedback, including correcting the location I had Brenda and Fritz skiing at (much to my chagrin). If you are a thoughtful person who is going to leave helpful feedback, please register! I want to be able to PM you and thank you in person, but I can't do that if you are logged on as Guest. So I have to say thank you here and hope you create an account.

**Chapter 5**

Brenda was trapped in dense, heavy dreams, black as tar and almost as thick. Amorphous monsters grabbed at her, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't blink. She was helpless. One of them grabbed her leg and, despite desperate efforts of her nightmare-self, she could not escape.

She opened her eyes to a pitch-dark room, and for several seconds wasn't sure if she was awake or asleep. Without the usual light pollution of LA, she couldn't see her surroundings, and it wasn't until she heard Fritz's familiar, steady breathing that her mind anchored itself to her location. I'm at Big Bear, she recalled with heavy, reluctant thoughts. But her leg puzzled her. It wouldn't move and it hurt terribly, as if the monster still held it in its grip. Several moment more of being semi-awake passed before the events of the previous day came back to her. There was no monster, just a badly broken leg that was throbbing.

Brenda needed medication, and she needed it now. For a second she considered waking Fritz to get it for her, but quickly decided not to. Last night had been difficult, and he was annoyed with her. She summoned all her energy and sat up, suppressing a yelp of pain. The aches and bruises from her fall yesterday began to blossom last night, and were in full bloom now. The idea of moving around on crutches feeling this sore made her groan, but she knew she didn't have a choice. She had to get to those Percocets. She looked at her left leg, propped high on several pillows, and gingerly placed it on the floor as she felt around for her crutches. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself up, and, with slow, small steps made it out of the bedroom into the bathroom.

The Percocet bottle sat on the back of the toilet. She quickly took two, using her hand to cup some water from the faucet to wash them down. Fritz wouldn't let her take any last night because she had wine with dinner, so she had only taken ibuprofen before bed. Clearly, it wasn't enough. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and grimaced. She hadn't bothered to take her makeup off last night when she came home, and her carefully applied face was a mess of smeared eyeliner and caked lipstick. Removing one hand from a crutch and balancing on her good leg, she reached into her toiletry bag and brought out a small jar of cold cream. She smeared the goo all over her face and then wiped it away with toilet paper, effectively cleansing her face so her pale, soft skin was visible again. Satisfied that she no longer looked like a heroin-addicted hooker on a bad night, she turned off the light and clomped out of the bathroom.

Her leg was in full pain mode now, and she knew she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep until the Percocet escorted her there. Instead of turning into the small bedroom, she hobbled out to the living room. There hadn't been a fire the previous evening and the air was cold. Brenda one-handedly grabbed several throw blankets and tossed them on the couch, and then settled herself as comfortably as she could, leg propped up, to stare out the large picture window at the mountain night sky. The sheer number of visible stars amazed her: like most city dwellers, she rarely saw a true starry sky. But here in the mountains they were like a sheet of diamonds on black velvet, the nearly full moon low in the horizon a giant moonstone. It was breathtaking.

The beauty of the night, magical though it was, only held her attention for so long, and after awhile the thoughts and emotions that held her stomach in a tight knot slowly drifted upwards into her head and banged loudly, demanding to be heard. And one thought, the thought she had been pushing down the hardest ever since she lost her balance on the mountain yesterday, the most noxious, immature thought, finally birthed itself from Brenda's turbulent mind:

_This never would have happened if I had gone to Atlanta._

There is was, the thing she didn't want to say, the thoughtform she didn't want to breathe life into, because it was against everything she was working to be, a stronger person, a woman who can roll with the punches. She didn't want to be so childish as to blame her father for the gnawing pain in her leg, or the six weeks of misery she had in front of her, or the crappy evening she ended up having last night, or the perfect Christmas of Brenda and Fritz getting screwed up, but…

_This never would have happened if I had gone to Atlanta._

She closed her eyes and stopped fighting it. If I had gone to Atlanta, I would be at my house, the house I grew up in, with Fritz and the rest of my family, and I would make sure all the traditional recipes would be prepared, and the cookie tins would be filled, and I would even figure out how to make peanut brittle. Daddy would be sad, we would all be sad, because Mama wouldn't be there, but with everybody's help, we would make it nice for Daddy, so we could show him he still has all of us who love him very much. If I had gone to Atlanta, I never would have gone skiing, I never would have gotten cocky about my skills after one day and taken a trail that was too challenging. No one from the South should be skiing anyways. I never would have broken my leg and ended up in excruciating pain. And I never would have fooled Fritz into thinking I was brave and positive and someone to be proud of.

Because I'm not.

She winced, covering her face with her hand. _"I'm proud of you,"_ he had told her the night before, when he saw her all dressed up for dinner, determined not to ruin the evening, despite her newly fractured leg. Her resolve, unfortunately, only took her so far. When they stepped outside for dinner, she discovered the temperature had dropped precipitously since that afternoon, and her short dress and bare leg above the cast was no match for the icy wind. Fritz heated up the car as fast as he could, but the cold snaked down into her bones and her teeth were soon chattering. When they got to the restaurant, she waved him off when he came around to help her, overconfident in her abilities to maneuver on crutches in winter weather and too impatient to get inside the heated restaurant to wait for him. Since it had gotten colder the ground had become extra slick, and when she stood up on her good leg using the car door for support, her foot slipped out from under her. Brenda saved herself from falling by grabbing the roof, her bad leg now twisted precariously. If she had fallen she is sure she would have sustained a bad knee injury on her already damaged leg. Fritz saw what happened and ran to her aid, pulling her upwards until she could find purchase on the icy ground. Fritz was irritated with her and practically carried her into the restaurant, much to her mortification, and reminded her that he wanted her to avoid going outside, but she had insisted on keeping their reservations anyways. They sat down, Brenda awash in embarrassment and Fritz in full lecture mode, and Brenda promptly ordered a glass of Merlot to calm her nerves. Fritz got angry then, reminding her that she had taken narcotics earlier in the day, didn't she know that mixing the two can be lethal? She pointed out she had only taken two pills and it had been hours ago, she had slept off the effects and was just fine now. The waitress stood there looking back and forth between the two, having no idea what to do, before Brenda turned to her and said, in her best Deputy Chief voice, "A glass of Merlot, please, _now_." The woman scampered away, clearly glad to be out of the fray. Fritz made one more comment about Brenda being irresponsible, and she muttered under her breath, unable to help herself, "not all of us are addicts." He looked up at her, demanding to know what she said, and she innocently answered "nothing" while seething in horror inside. That was the worst backsliding she had done in months. She seriously considered going to the Lady's room and crying, but the effort of getting there on crutches was too much. As they stared at their menus, too mad at each other to really read them, she started to feel achy from the accident. Brenda looked through her purse hopefully, but had forgotten to being ibuprofen with her. Even a glass of Merlot didn't stem the tide of rising pain, and by the time the main course arrived, she was extremely uncomfortable. She wanted to order a few more glasses of Merlot to act as a painkiller but was afraid Fritz would hit the roof. His steak was overcooked and had to be sent back, her pasta was bland and tasteless. They skipped dessert, a first for her, and headed back to the cabin, not speaking. Brenda lunged for the ibuprofen the second she got home, swallowing four without water. She eyed the Percocet hungrily, but Fritz told her in the car that if she even so much as touched them after having wine he would hide the bottle from her. So instead, she hobbled into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, tore her new dress off and threw it to the floor, pulled on Fritz's old sweats, and went to bed. Fritz was still awake with Joel on his lap in the fireless living room when she fell asleep.

Some Christmas Eve this turned out to be. She had lost it somewhere along the way, that resolve to have a good day despite of her accident. It's like when she fell: she slipped on the patch of ice and felt her center of gravity just disappear, and she kept grabbing for it with flailing limbs in the thin air in desperation, but she couldn't get it back. Every little thing—a slip, an argument, a petty comment, a bad steak—it drifted farther and farther away from her fingertips.

She didn't even notice she was crying until the tears, disappointment, slid off her chin and onto her fisted hands in large, dense drops. She was too tired to try and keep the gates closed, and in so much pain the release felt good. A sob ripped through her chest and she muffled her sounds by leaning into a pillow. How long had it been since she had cried? A few weeks, ever since Andrea found her in the bathroom and called her out. Since that moment she was determined not to let Fritz see her with red eyes, because she wanted him to know she had chosen to make this Christmas about them, not about Mama, that she decided to be happy and enjoy this fabulous vacation. Yea Brenda!

_This never would have happened if I had gone to Atlanta._

Brenda was plenty cynical. Who wouldn't be after leaning over dead bodies for as long as she had? So she certainly didn't believe that the universe owed her jack squat. Some people get crappy lives and have crappy things happen to them, some people don't, and nobody seems to have figured out a way to balance out the misery of living on planet earth. But a part of her, the small, little-girl part that she knows will never grow up, had been throwing a temper tantrum for the past year screaming, "this isn't fair!" Her life took a turn for the worse and it just kept spiraling. Once lawsuit, than another. Pope sold her out for his own career despite seven years of service. Daddy got cancer. She found Mama dead in her spare bedroom, a message on her lips Brenda will never hear. And the icing on the cake, the real finale, was Philip Stroh breaking in to her house and trying to rape and murder her. If she hadn't kept current with her hand-to-hand combat skills she learned in the CIA, she had no doubt his sheer hatred of her would have made him victor. She may have shot him and put him in jail, but in many ways, he still won: he made frequent appearances in her nightmares. They always start with the missing screen in the bathroom window and end with his hands around her neck, squeezing the breath out of her raped and mutilated body as terror pumped through her body in lieu of blood. When Stroh visited her in the dark of night, it was up to Fritz to calm a shaking, wailing Brenda and reassure her that it was just a nightmare. But was it really just a nightmare when the monster who stars in it is real?

Monsters or men, that is beside the point. The point is, in Brenda's mind, if there was any justice in the universe like there is in humankind—at least the kind of justice she tries to enforce—she would have a lot of good things coming her way after all of the crap she has been through. They would find the perfect house, perhaps. Fritz would get a great promotion in LA, so they wouldn't have to move. Daddy would stay cancer-free and live for another 20 years. At the very least, this well-planned Christmas would work out perfectly, because after almost getting murdered three times in one year, is it too much to ask?

Obviously, it is.

Thinking about Stroh always made Brenda nauseous, and she clutched her stomach as she held the pillow against her face to quiet her sobs. That Percocet is going to kick in any moment now, she told herself, and my leg's going to stop hurting, and I'm going to stop hurting, because all these feelings are going to float away to someplace far, far away. The thought of relief at hand relaxed her, and she slumped against the back of the couch.

"You know, if you stay awake for Santa, he will never come." Fritz's voice cut through the frozen silence and startled Brenda.

"Crap!" she exclaimed, sitting up quickly and knocking on of her crutches to the ground, the sound of wood on wood like a bullet in the still pre-dawn. "Fritz, you scared the livin' daylights outta me!" She held her hand over her chest, her breathing rapid. "What in the world are you doin' up?"

"I came out here to ask you the same thing. I woke up and you were gone. I got worried."

She didn't want him to know she was crying. She gestured to her cast, not looking at him. "My leg was hurtin' somethin' terrible, so bad it woke me up, so I got up and took some pills. I knew I couldn't fall back asleep until the pain got better, so I thought I'd lie out here for awhile before I came back to bed."

He walked toward her and extended his arm. "I also came out to bring you some of these." Brenda looked at his hand and saw he was offering her a wad of Kleenex. Shoot, he heard me crying, she thought. She took his gift silently.

Fritz sat down on the floor next to the couch, facing her. "Is your leg hurting you so much it's making you cry, or it something else, Brenda? Talk to me."

Fritz's famous line: _talk to me_. An invitation, as warm as open arms and freshly baked bread. She has learned to fall into it, fall into him, and let herself open up in way that would have been impossible a few years ago. Sometimes her words were so eager to get to him they stumbled over each other as they fell off her tongue. But tonight was not one of those times. _Talk to me._About what? She didn't even know where to start.

"I'm sorry about dinner," she said after a long silence, as he patiently waited for her to answer his question. "I mean, things didn't go well, and somehow we both got cranky with each other, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry about what I said at the table, I truly am. That was me bein' a jerk. I so wanted Christmas Eve to be as special as we planned it to be, even though I have this stupid cast. I just wanted that so bad." The tears she managed to squelch when she appeared returned with the vengeance.

"Hey Brenda, hey," Fritz said, standing to crouch over her, hand on her back. "It's alright, honey, it's alright. We were both a little tired and stressed out. We went through a lot of effort for dinner to happen, and I think we, especially you, were worn out. I'm not mad. I was a jerk too, so I'm sorry for my part in ruining dinner. Don't cry, Brenda, it's Christmas and we are going to have a nice day, just the two of us. It's going to be fine."

She shook her head and took a deep ragged breath. "No it's not! It's not gonna be fine! Everythin's screwed up!" She took a Kleenex and wiped her nose.

Fritz squatted in front of her and pulled some of her hair away from her face so he could look at her. "What's screwed up? Christmas? No it's not! Just a little altered, that's all. Why would you say that?"

She thought her filter was in place, but maybe the narcotics were affecting her, maybe it was the pain, maybe she was couldn't help but spill her guts when he said _"talk to me_," or maybe she had just given up. She heard herself spit out, "This never would have happened if I had gone to Atlanta!"

She clamped her hand over her mouth, wishing she could grab the words and shove them back in, away from Fritz's ears. She couldn't believe she said that out loud, the horrible thought she didn't want to acknowledge was even hers, let alone give it an audience by speaking it. She shook her head violently, not knowing what to say to expunge what she just expelled.

Fritz sighed. "No, it wouldn't have, would it?"

Brenda looked up at him, surprised. She wasn't expecting him to agree. She didn't know what to expect, except maybe an expression of hurt, a reaction to her childishness for saying such a thing, but certainly not him reacting calmly. Because Brenda knew, and Fritz had to know, what the true meaning of those words were: _I wish I wasn't here._

"Of course, you could have always tripped over Vickie and broken your leg. That mutt really likes to get underfoot," he continued, humor in his voice. He motioned for Brenda to scoot down so he could sit behind her. After a few minutes of rearranging pillows, spouses, and broken limbs, Fritz was seated at the end of the couch, his arms wrapped around Brenda, whose head and torso rested against his chest. "And if you decorated the house just like your mother did, well, it was hazardous to walk through all the detritus she had everywhere. I was always afraid I was going to step on an elf or a crèche just trying to make it to the kitchen."

"Mama said she liked to make things festive," Brenda said, still confused why he wasn't angry. "It used to take her the entire weekend after Thanksgivin' to put up all that stuff. If you think it was chaotic when you visited, you should have seen our house when us kids helped her with the decorations. There were elves in the manger and baby Jesus in Santa's workshop. It was a nightmare." Fritz chuckled, and Brenda could feel the vibrations from his chest along her back.

"Your mother really loved Christmas," Fritz said. "She liked to make it special for everyone."

Brenda nodded her head. "Oh yea. When we were kids, we would come down on Christmas morning and it looked like somethin' out of a fairy tale. I mean, it was amazin', all the toys we got, and the way she displayed them! I always wondered why she and daddy looked so tired on Christmas morning. I thought it was because we woke them up so early. They were probably up most of the night puttin' all those toys together, and Mama makin' sure everything looked perfect for when us kids came down the stairs."

Brenda's brain was tickled with a sudden memory that evoked a smile. "We never left cookies for Santa, like all my friends did. My Mama said after an evenin' of eatin' nothin' but cookies, he really should eat somthin' more substantial, so she made him a sandwich. And Daddy always insisted on leavin' him a beer. In the mornin' the sandwich was missin' few bites but the beer was empty." She and Fritz both laughed. It felt good, to be wrapped in his arms, laughing.

Brenda continued, her mind wandering through files of memories of Christmases past. "When I was in college, I would finish exams right before Christmas, and goin' home would be like a reward. I'd come home sleep-deprived and worn out, and Mama would completely spoil me. I loved it. Cuz if you haven't noticed, Fritz, I love bein' spoiled." He reached down and tweaked her nose.

"I've noticed," he said. "Oh, I've noticed."

I got bad about comin' home once I got into the real world, although it was such a nice escape from all the stuff I was dealin' with," she continued. "I remember this one year, when I was workin' for the CIA, I told my parents I wouldn't be there for Christmas. Well, with the Company, I never knew until the last minute, but I was in—well, I can't tell you where I was—I was out of the country workin' on somethin' big. To my shock we finished up early, December 22nd I think, and I decided to head straight for Atlanta. Problem was, we were somewhere remote, and even when I got myself to a more populated area there was no space on commercial flights. So I did some serious wheelin' and dealin' to get rides and flights from anyone I could—military, other intelligence officers, complete strangers. I even did the last stretch of the trip with a long-haul trucker. I never batted my eyelashes so much in my life, but I was determined to make it home for Christmas. I traveled for somethin' like 25 hours nonstop, no sleep, barely anythin' to eat, in the same clothes. I arrived on Mama and Daddy's doorstep at 3am, and when I rang the doorbell and woke them up, Daddy started hollerin' up a storm about who the hell would be comin' around in the middle of the night. But when Mama opened the door and saw me, lookin' like somethin' the cat dragged in, she had the biggest smile you ever saw on her face." Brenda paused, her eyes distant. "She pulled me into a hug, and Daddy did too, no longer yellin' once he saw it was me, and Mama was cryin', and then I was cryin', probably cuz I was so tired and jet-lagged and could barely stand. Mama dragged me into the kitchen and got me somethin' to eat, then escorted me to the shower—I think she was afraid I was gonna go to sleep on her nice sheets as filthy as I was—and then she tucked me in like I was a little girl. When I woke up there was this huge Christmas breakfast, and my brothers and their families were over, and everything was just perfect. And after two weeks holed up in a safehouse with a bunch of men in, oh, I can't tell you where, workin' 18 hours a day, eatin' crappy Ru—uh, food of a certain ethnicity, Mama spoilin' me that Christmas was just heaven. I will never forget it."

Fritz pulled her tighter in his arms and leaned down to kiss her hair. She had promised not to make this Christmas about Mama, but it felt so good to talk about her, to remember how hard she worked to make Christmas magical for everyone. Brenda remembered the year she ruined her family's Florida plans by coming to Atlanta and arresting fugitive Wesley Reed, and then having to transport him back to LA in her parents' RV. Willie Rae, although upset at Brenda's emotional manipulation of Wesley, went out and bought a ton of presents for his brother Grady, trying to give the young man a happy Christmas. When Brenda and her squad were stuck at the LAPD working on a murder and dealing with a possible Serbian war criminal, her mother somehow managed to use the LAPD's meager food preparation tools to serve an incredible Christmas dinner. When it comes to learning how to make the best of a bad situation, Brenda mused, there was really no better model than her mother.

She didn't realize that she and Fritz had lapsed into a comfortable silence until Fritz broke it. "You know what I think, Brenda?" he said gently, running his hand over her hair, stroking her.

"About what?"

"About you wishing you were in Atlanta for Christmas."

Her stomach tensed. "Oh Fritz, I didn't say that, I didn't say I wished I was in Atlanta, I was just bein' a baby, don't listen to me…"

"Hush Brenda, let me finish," he said, raising his voice to be heard over her.

She hushed.

"I thought at first, like your father did, that you were trying to fill your mother's shoes. You were going to go home and make Christmas as great as she did, and if all the same decorations were out and the same cookies were baked, people wouldn't be so sad without her. Especially your Daddy."

"I'm not sure that's fair, Fritz."

He ignored her interruption. "I was worried this wasn't healthy, that there was no way you could do things the way your mother did them, and that's not a criticism of you, it's just that no one can fill the hole left by someone else, no matter how hard they try. You were bound be get frustrated and disappointed, and I dreaded seeing you go through that. But then, the real reason an Atlanta Christmas was so important dawned on me."

"And what's that?" Brenda struggled to keep the dread out of her voice. She didn't want to hear what keen observation Fritz had to share. He was pressing on some very sore points at the moment.

"You expected to see your mother there," he said quietly.

She tried to sit up, to pull away from him. Was he nuts? No, he just thought she was. "What are you goin'on about, Fritz? You think I was expectin' to see her ghost?"

"Not her ghost. _Her._In that part of our brain where we have thoughts that don't make any sense, you believed your mother would be there, like she has been there every Christmas of your life. If Christmas comes, it comes with Willie Rae. You were going home to find your mother."

"Fritz, that is the most ridiculous thing—" she started, warming up for a rant. Then her chest constricted and she couldn't breathe, and it felt like her heart was going to explode. She hadn't experienced this since the week her mother had died. Brenda placed one hand over her heart and wrapped the other around Fritz's arm. "Oh god," she whispered. The truth attacked her, and with Fritz holding her in his clutches, she had no way to escape.

He was right. God, why did he always have to be right? Perspective is a magnifying glass, perhaps. Because he saw into her, into the crevices of her complex, mazelike heart, into her labyrinthine psyche, something no one has ever been able to do. And he just extracted a truism so buried that she would never have been able to find, let alone examine, on her own. Willie Rae was going to be there. At Christmas in Atlanta. Of course she would, were else would she be? She would be waiting for Brenda, wearing one of her Christmas sweaters, open arms and tears of joy in her eyes like the night Brenda had made her way back from Russia, the house smelling like pine and gingerbread and wrapping paper and love. Willie Rae would be the one making the peanut brittle, not Brenda, and the glazed ham, and everything else traditional and expected and comforting, and Brenda could take that tradition, that warmth her mother exuded, the inherent security of her childhood home, and wrap it around her, and for the first time in over a year, everything would be all right.

"Oh god Fritz," Brenda whispered, tightening her grip on his arm. "I, I actually think you're right. Oh, I've gone crazy, haven't I?" She sniffed. "And now I'm gonna start cryin' again. Damn." She rubbed her chest as another spasm of grief wracked her.

"No, Brenda, you aren't crazy, not at all," Fritz said, rocking her gently. "It makes sense you would feel this way. The year after my parents died, I was putting the stamp on their Christmas card before I realized that there would be no one to open it." His voice took on a deep, heavy resonance, and he sounded much older than he was. "I think my mind couldn't process that they were both gone, and there would never be another family Christmas again."

Brenda reached behind her blindly and found his cheek, he leaned into it. "Oh Fritz, I'm so sorry. You were so young to have to go through that. And here I am, actin' like I'm the only one who has ever lost their mother."

"No, I'm glad we are talking about it. Ever since that night you called your father in Atlanta, you completely stopped talking about your mother and this being the first Christmas without her. I was getting kind of worried, because I don't like it when you bottle up things."

"No, I wasn't bottlin' at all. Remember our conversation that night, Fritz? You said we had a choice about how to react to things. And you said I needed to choose how I was gonna be this Christmas. Was I gonna be all mopey cuz my Mama is gone, or was it gonna be 'the Christmas of us?' Ug, that makes me shutter to say it, it's so corny. Anyways, I said I chose to make this Christmas about us. So that's why I haven't been bringin' up Mama."

"Wait, so you thought that if you talked about any sad feelings about your mother, I would interpret that as you not being committed to making this Christmas about us? Really?" Fritz sounded incredulous, and Brenda didn't understand why.  
"Well, yes," she said, hesitantly. "I wasn't supposed to be poutin' about Mama, I was supposed to gettin' excited about this trip."  
Fritz let his head drop on the back of the couch, shaking it side to side. "Brenda, Brenda, Brenda." He rubbed his face. "What am I going to do with you? He lifted his head up and let go of her, twisting both of them around so they could look at each other.

"I didn't mean to imply stuffing any sad feelings you had about your mom, which are bound to pop up this time of year, is what I wanted, honey. That's completely unhealthy. Since your mother loved Christmas so much, you must been feeling lousy the past few weeks, but you have been all sunshine and roses at home. What have you been doing to deal with all of this? How much chocolate have you been eating?"

Brenda couldn't believe she was going to tell him this. She was now convinced his words _"talk to me"_were a spell. "The normal intake of chocolate. But I cried every day at work, from twelve to one pm," she said. "That is, until Andrea noticed I was doin' this and demanded to know what was goin' on. When I told her, she said to knock off the daily cryin' and instead focus on showin' you how excited I was about our trip to Big Bear. So that's where I put all my energy."

He looked at her with a mixture of frustration, pity, and affection. "You were determined that I wouldn't see you grieving your mother, even though the season made you think a lot about her," he said. "So you scheduled an hour a day to cry in the women's restroom. You rather a colleague catch you sobbing than me?" He sounded amused.

"I used a bathroom several floors away from the DA's office on a floor that is half-vacant," she said. "And I did get caught—by Andrea. And yes, I was determined that you wouldn't see me cry about Mama, because of what I just said. What aren't you gettin' about this, Fritz?" She was frustrated at his confusion.

He took her hands in his. "Oh Brenda, I didn't mean for you to squelch you grief for me, I would never want you to do that. Like you said when we were talking that night, it's the first Christmas without your mother, whether you want it to be or not. Of course you are going to be sad."

"But if I was boo-hooin about Mama, than I thought that you would think—"

"—that you weren't really making an effort to make this Christmas about the two of us. I see now. The new ski outfit. The ornaments. All of it was to prove to me that you weren't going to be mourning your mother and ruining Christmas. I get it."

He didn't sound mad, she thought, but she was worried he would think this Christmas, her effort behind it, was just one of her lies. Empty words and actions with no true emotions behind it. Classic Brenda Leigh Johnson.

The words came rushing out. "Fritz, please understand. After we talked, I wanted so bad for this to be a great Christmas for the two of us. I've been workin' so hard ever since Mama died to focus on the livin', and this was a great opportunity to do so. To focus on you, and this trip with you, And I did. . And it wasn't just a façade. I was really excited. I missed the first trip, and I'm not tryin' to make you feel bad about that, honey, but I saw your pictures and even though I was a little scared of skiing I knew it would be beautiful here. I was sad about Mama in my heart but I put my energy into plannin' for the trip, and it paid off. I love that we got a little tree, and it's decorated with ornaments we gave to each other. And that I took the time to pack your favorite cookie recipes. And to get some really nice lingerie you had never seen before." He opened his mouth, and she knew he was going to stop her. She violently shook her head. "No Fritz, please let me finish. And all my work paid off, our first night up here couldn't have been better, and we had so much fun on the our first day skiin'. It was perfect. And then—"her voice was broken by an unexpected sob—" and then I ruined everything by gettin' my leg broken." She buried her face in her hands and bent her head.

He wrapped he wrapped his hands around both of her wrists and pulled them away from her face. "Brenda, enough with the crying," he said, with a note of irritation in his voice. "You have cried enough for one night. I want to talk. Calm down, honey." He rubbed her back, and she took a deep breath to steady herself, to slow the torrent of feelings. She really needed to pull the pieces together. She was drifting from emoting to wallowing in self-pity. And as much as she hated the talking thing, she knew it was good for her, for them, a bitter but necessary medicine.

"That's better," he said, when he saw he had regained control. "'Ruined?' Brenda, tell me how is Christmas ruined. And how in the world is breaking your leg your fault?"

She shook her head, not wanting to say anymore. She had said enough. Too much. She didn't mean to tell him how much she blamed herself for everything. How guilty she felt. How that old familiar voice whispered in her ear, as it had so many other times when she stood amongst the ruins of some aspect of her life, _"another woman could have done better."_

"Brenda, talk. Seriously. You and I are working on communication , and I want to know why you think you are singlehandedly responsible for ruining my Christmas. Because this isn't that case, not at all."

She felt tired. The drugs were kicking in, and all she wanted was to go back to bed and sink into oblivion for awhile. She was not in the mood for a cross-examination. Her patience snapped.

"For heaven's sake Fritz, of course I screwed things up! Unless you planned for four hours in Urgent Care yesterday. And you were really hopin' both of us would fight our way through dinner last night because I'm clumsy on crutches ? Me, I was just beggin' Santa to bring me a whoppin' load of pain for bein' such a good girl this year."

"Sometimes things go wrong, Brenda. How do you figure that your broken leg is your fault? Why are you blaming yourself for something that was just an accident?"

"Well…" she played with the fringe on the pillow she was holding. "It's a little embarrassin." She looked at Fritz, who had his arms crossed, waiting for her answer, and he clearly wasn't going to let her get out of it. "See, I was racin' you down the trail. Not that you knew we were racin,' I just wanted to beat you to the bottom and then give you a hard time about how much better a skier I was than you. I was goin' a lot faster than I had gone yesterday on that little slope when I lost control. I think if I wasn't goin' so fast, I wouldn't have lost my balance when I hit that patch of ice. So yea, I do blame myself. If I weren't so competitive, I probably wouldn't have broken my leg." She ventured a look at Fritz.

He was smirking. "I feel slightly less sorry for you now. But just slightly. You could have crashed even if you were skiing slower, you never know. But let it be a lesson to you, honey. Your competitive nature can bite you on the as$." He shook his finger at her.

She yawned. "Lesson learned. I'll pile it on the stack of all the other ones I've been taught recently."

He reached out and caressed her cheek. "You know what? Not that I'm ignoring your pain in any way, but a broken leg isn't important. Neither is a crappy dinner. You know what is?  
We are together, Brenda. We are together in a cabin in the mountains, and it is beautiful here. No one is going to call and drag you away from me to a crime scene, leaving me with no idea when I'm going to see you again. I got four uninterrupted days with you. Four days! I haven't had that since our honeymoon. Don't you see what a gift that is to me? That is what I mean by 'the Christmas of us,' Brenda. You and me, being together, with no one to bother us. I get to be the center of your attention, which I have to admit, and maybe I'm needy, I really crave. We could be in the middle of the desert in a shack somewhere and it would still be the best Christmas ever if I got this much time with you. Don't you see, honey? For me, the perfect Christmas boils down to being with you. Nothing more."

She shook her head and stared down into her lap. All her worry, all her effort into showing him that she wanted this trip. Her commitment to make it perfect. Her despair that her broken leg ruined everything. She was wrong on all accounts. She should have known. Her Fritz wanted something more meaningful than ski coats and Christmas cookies. He craved a gift more pure, from the heart. He wanted her love. And that, she had to give in abundance.

He ran his hand through her hair and cupped her chin. "Now do you understand why something like a broken leg is certainly not going to ruin my Christmas? Not when I still have you with me, and we have two more days before I have to let you out of my sight and share you with the world. As far as I am concerned, besides your pain and suffering, this has absolutely been the best Christmas ever." He leaned down and kissed her.

She smiled, the fist that was wrapped around her heart released, and the knot in her stomach untied.

"Really?" she said in a soft voice. "You really mean that, or are you just tryin' to make me feel better?"

"I mean it, Brenda. I've spent so many nights without you when you worked at the LAPD. I knew what I was getting myself into when I started dating you, because ou were a workaholic in DC, too, but it was hard. All I ever wanted was to spend time with you, to be the center of that intense focus of yours. I was so happy when you took the job at the DA's office, even though I know it was hard for you to leave Major Crimes, and a lot of bad things happened in your life that led you to leave. So yes, Brenda, I mean it when I say getting to spend an entire Christmas holiday with you, just the two of us, is worth all the presents you could stuff under a tree."

She was so touched by him she didn't know what to say. Then the words came to her, from the crevices of her memory. "'It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags,'" Brenda quoted.

Fritz did a double take. "Did you just quote "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas?'"

Brenda gave him a saucy look. "I did. You aren't the only one who knows classic Christmas specials, Fritz."  
"The other day you acted like you had never even heard of Whoville!"

"I was pullin' your leg," she said, kissing him on the cheek. "You told me once you like it that I'm impossible sometimes. I like to check every once in awhile to make sure that's still true."

Fritz snorted. "Every once in awhile?"

"Ha ha!" she said sarcastically, drawing out each syllable.

As Fritz started to sing, almost unconsciously, "Yahoo dooray, yahoo dooray, welcome welcome Christmas day," Brenda grew aware of the fuzzy texture of her thoughts, the sluggishness of her brain. The Percocet is definitely at work, she thought. I need to get back to bed. And I have to get Fritz to stop sounding like a Who.

"Honey, what time is it? I'm startin' to feel dopey and I think it's time I go back to bed."

He squinted across the room at the DVR clock. "It's four in the morning. Too early to open presents. So let's get some sleep."

"Mmmm, presents." She smiled. "Hey, before I check out, I want to you to know I am glad to be here. With you, Fritz. It has been a great time, despite the leg. You're right that bein' in Atlanta would have been a huge disappointment, because what I was lookin' for isn't there anymore. My Daddy said somethin' very wise to me the night he told me he was goin' on the cruise. He said instead of focusin' on Mama bein' gone, I should be foucusin' on you bein' here, with me. And he's right. And so are you, Fritzy. Spendin' this much time together really does make the best Christmas. I'm sure my Daddy would agree. He told me he would give anythin' just to have one more day with my Mama."

He leaned in and took her face in his hands, and kissed her, long and hard, his soft lips parting hers. Brenda felt herself flying, and it wasn't from the narcotic.

She pulled back and looked at his handsome face, finding it hard to focus. "Am I a terrible, materialistic person to be excited that there are presents under the tree with my name on it?" She looked over at her little Charlie Brown tree. "Oh, that's right, since you don't trust me, they aren't under there yet, but they will be there in the morning. Right?"

Fritz wore a grin. "I put your presents under the tree after you went to bed last night, Brenda. But I am not going to let you go over and shake them right now. Especially in your current altered state."

"Spoil sport."

"Well, I do have one Christmas present I can give you now," he said, eyes glinting. "And I think you are going to like it."

"Whazzit?" she murmured. Her eyelids became leaden and she closed them.

"Well, I don't know if you remember, but our massages were scheduled for yesterday, right about the time you were in a drug-induced sleep," he said.

Brenda opened one eye and looked at him. "Oh, I remembered," she said, struggling to speak clearly. "I had been looking forward to that massage ever since you told me about the trip. Broke my heart to miss it." She stuck out her lower lip.

"Put that pout lip away," he said, and she obeyed. "I called the Spa yesterday to cancel our appointments, and guess what I found out? They are open today, Christmas day, for a few hours. I guess people get bored after opening presents but aren't up to skiing. I asked what was available, and I booked you for a facial and a pedicure." Fritz grinned in triumph.

Now Brenda was awake. "You did not! A pedicure—wait! Did you tell them I had a cast on one leg?"

"I did, and they said no problem. They told me they do pedicures on people with newly-acquired casts so often that they want to have a special one called the "Fracture Pedi."

"Yea, they should, and it should be half price." She was slurring her words a bit. "Cuz since they can't scrub and massage my broken leg and all, it's like only half a pedicure."

"Don't worry about the money. After the day you had, you deserve bright red toes."

"I'm goin' for pink," she said. "Hey, were you able to book anythin' for yourself?"

"Yes! I am getting a 'gentleman's shave' and a 'sport's manicure.'"

She giggled. "You are gettin' a manicure? I am tellin' all the guys in your office! Ha!"

Fritz tried to look indignant. "It's a _sport's_manicure, very manly. No polish or anything. It will make my hands and cuticles nice and smooth."

"Uh huh," she said, giving up the fight against the narcotic and closing both eyes again. "Honey, the Percocet is knockin' me out, and I really need to get back to bed. Is there any way you could spare me and my sore muscles the agony of crutches and just carry me?"

Wordlessly bent down and she put her arms around his neck, gingerly scooped her off the couch, and carried her into the bedroom. The last thing she remembered before Percocet dragged her into unconsciousness was Fritz crawling in bed next to her and resting his head on her pillow. She swear he heard him whisper, "my sweet Brenda. You are my everything." Or it might just have been the drugs.

She struggled to form the words, but whether or not they left her mind or her mouth, she will never know.

"Merry Christmas, my Fritzy. Merry Christmas to us."

**The End**

**_You know, Feedback is like Christmas presents. You just can't get too much..._**


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